


More

by satanchangedmypresets



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Slash, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 09:11:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satanchangedmypresets/pseuds/satanchangedmypresets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Burke has everything he could ever ask for: a great job, a great house, and a flawless wife. He shouldn't want anything more, especially not from his CI and partner, Neal Caffrey. Peter thought Neal had come clean with all of his secrets, but when a dark shadow threatens the world Neal has built for himself in the Bureau, can Peter stand beside him once again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Admit It

He had a job he loved, the perfect house, a perfect wife, and a great dog. What more could he possibly ask for?

Peter Burke, FBI Agent of the White Collar Crime Unit in NYC, asked himself this as he looked across the office at his consultant, the ex-con Neal Caffrey. Neal was talking with Diane about a case they'd been working on for nearly six months now with hardly any leads. Peter could see the frustration on his partner's face as he held the file to his lips, reading the information on the computer screen as fast as Diane could pull it up.

It was the middle of June and the building's AC unit had given out a couple days ago. It had wordlessly instituted casual dress. He himself was wearing a Giants t-shirt over his slacks, his button-up and jacket on the chair behind him. But it wasn't his dress that caught his attention. It wasn't even Diane's ever dipping v-neck, no, El was the only woman he had eyes for now.

It was Neal.

Ever well-dressed even when casual, Neal was wearing a white button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the collar and first three buttons undone showing the white undershirt he wore beneath. Plain black slacks neatly pressed as always but what set him apart from the other FBI workers was that he was barefoot. He claimed that as long as his feet were cool, the rest of him would be as well. Still, his dark brown hair was damp with sweat and he looked flushed.

Peter watched a single bead of sweat worked its way from Neal's temple down the slope of his jaw and over his throat, falling out of sight below the collar of Neal's shirt. He imagined himself walking over and following the same path with his tongue, ripping that damned shirt off to get to the other man's toned chest. Shoving every paper off the nearest desk so he could lay Neal down on it, working him out of those black slacks…

"Peter!"

Peter jumped and looked up to see Neal's startlingly blue eyes looked at him with concern.

"I've been calling your name for five minutes. Diane may have a lead down at the harbor, let's go check it out."

"Okay, let's go."

Neal nodded and stepped to his desk quickly and nimbly, sitting down to slide his shoes on. Peter shook his head at how quietly the man moved, still amazed despite how long they'd known each other. He'd never known a human being could move that fluidly.

Beneath the desk, he pinched the inside of his thigh until the pain made his tell-tale erection falter and fade away. Then he grabbed his shirt and jacket, heading after Neal who was already at the elevator, punching the button to call it to them.

His affection for Neal Caffrey hadn't been a sudden realization. In fact, it had probably started when he was still chasing "James Bonds." The intelligence and sophistication of the crimes had appealed to him and then that startling photo from the bank security camera of the young man with devilish good looks. From there, he'd only gotten more attached. He spent long nights poring over the files while El begged him to come to bed, imagining how he'd feel confronting Caffrey, catching him, making sure he was convicted…he was a man obsessed.

When Neal had escaped, he'd felt the rush all over again as if not a day had passed, let alone nearly four years. Seeing Neal again, even pining over Kate, brought a rush of giddy emotions he couldn't even begin to define. He felt like a schoolgirl talking hesitantly to her crush. When Neal had lifted the security fiber from his jacket, his heart had been pounding fit to burst. He was surprised Neal didn't notice but then again, Neal was still in love with Kate then.

Then Neal's offer to help with the Dutchman case had struck him out of the blue. Competing with Kate for Neal's attention, he lied to himself and said that he was only interested in keeping Neal on the straight and narrow. Truth was, he was damn jealous of the harpy and some sick twisted part of his soul was glad she was gone from his life. Then came Alex, and Sara, and then blissfully, Neal decided to remain single for a little while. Peter allowed himself to hope that maybe, just maybe, he could fill that blank space in Neal's life.

He knew he was lost when the physical attraction had slowly melded with the emotional attachment he had for the young con artist. Seeing him struggle and triumph and being by his side the whole way, helping him find the truth and satisfaction that justice could bring over revenge, being the  _one person_  that Neal trusted…he could spend the rest of his life doing this with Neal.

"You are certainly lost in your own world today."

Peter blinked the sound of Neal's voice, looking up to see that the elevator had reached the ground floor and Neal was holding it open for him.

"Yeah, thinking about El. She asked me what I wanted for my birthday this morning. She always goes all out."

"Well, yeah, she's an event planner, Peter." Neal quipped with a quirky grin.

"Yeah, but haven't you ever wanted your birthday to pass unnoticed?"

"Mm, every year."

Peter looked up in surprise. "Really?"

Neal shrugged. "Birthdays weren't exactly a happy time for me growing up. Besides, I don't like the idea of growing older. Honestly, never thought I'd live this long. But we were talking about you and El."

"Yes, she wants to throw me a birthday party and invite all our friends and coworkers. You know what I want? A quiet dinner at home with her, me, and Satchmo."

A flicker of hurt at being excluded passed through Neal's eyes but Peter didn't see it, his eyes on the traffic they were about to cross.

"Why don't you tell her that? I'm sure she'd rather you be happy."

"She seems to be having so much fun planning it that I don't want to spoil it for her."

Neal suddenly laughed, catching him by surprise. "What?"

"You two…" Neal chuckled, shaking his head. "You just want to do and do for each other, no matter how it makes you feel personally. It's adorable, like Gift of the Magi."

"Gift of the…?"

Neal sighed as they reached Peter's car, sliding into the passenger seat. "Don't tell me you don't know the story of Gift of the Magi. Husband sells his watch to buy hair clips for his wife for Christmas, wife cuts off her hair and sells it to buy a new strap for his watch?"

He stopped at the blank look on Peter's face. "It's the principle!"

Peter shook his head, starting the car, pumping up the AC. "Where are we going again?"

"Harbor, North Side." Neal had let his head fall back against the seat, breathing in deep as the cold air made his moist skin prickle with goose bumps. Peter pointedly stared ahead, forcing himself to focus on the traffic.

And most certainly not on the tiny noises of pleasure Neal was making at finally being able to cool off.

He was pretty sure what scared him most was how at ease El had always seemed with this side of him. He loved her, fully and completely in every way a man could love a woman, but every now and then he had a sudden lust for a man's touch. And she had accepted it as only she could. It was another reason he was certain he had married the right woman.

" _It's a part of you, Peter, and I want every part of you,"_  she had said when he came to her, ashamed that he had broken down and bought a gay porn DVD. They'd ended up watching it together and she loved how hot and horny it made him. For their sixth anniversary, she had offered to bring a male friend of hers over for a threesome. He had been grateful but firmly declined.

" _The man with whom I would share you would have to be someone very special, someone I completely trust."_

And when he'd confessed how he felt about Neal, she had only smiled.

" _Maybe he's the man you're willing to share me with."_

Then idea had been too hauntingly perfect to entertain for long. After all, Neal had shown nothing but friendly affection for himself and Elizabeth and no inclinations towards homosexual tendencies. Quite the opposite, in fact, he seemed perfectly capable of willingly seducing anything female that fell for his pretty smile. It wasn't fair.

"What's bothering you, Peter?" The concern in Neal's voice surprised him and prompted an honest response.

"You,"

This time he did see the hurt flash across Neal's face before it was carefully guarded again.

"Me? Why?"

"No, it's not…" Peter tried to salvage the sudden mess he'd made. "It's not you, exactly, that's not what I meant."

"You just said I'm bothering you, Peter,"

Peter glanced over at Neal and was suddenly floored by the way the light reflected off his eyes, gleaming against his pale skin…

"Peter!"

Peter had to slam on brakes to stop from ramming into the car in front of them and let go of the wheel once they were motionless, rubbing his forehead.

"Maybe I should drive,"

"No, no," Peter shook his head, moving forward with the traffic once again. "I'm fine."

"I'm not so sure," Neal slowly relaxed back against his seat, still watching him out of the corner of his eye. Peter stared resolutely forward.

"I'm just worried about you, Neal,"

"Worried?" That got his attention. "Why? I haven't even contemplated anything worse than speeding in months."

"I know," Peter frowned as they pulled off the highway, heading towards the harbor.

Neal waited patiently for more but when Peter didn't volunteer any new information, he turned his head out towards the window, watching the buildings flash by.

With every passing moment, Peter felt worse as the silence grew between them, knowing that he'd hurt Neal and not knowing how to fix it. How come he could interrogate a prisoner flawlessly but he couldn't talk to his own partner without causing some sort of havoc? He wanted to tell Neal desperately but he had no idea how to even begin.

" _Just be honest with him. Tell him how you feel and then let him breathe."_

They pulled into the harbor and Peter parked the car, taking a deep breath.

"Neal…"

"I'm going to check the inside. Stay close."

Just like that, Neal left the file on the seat and jogged towards the warehouse at the address Diane had given them. Peter got out and closed the door behind him.

"Neal!" he hissed even as Neal reached the side of the building. Neal glanced back and pointed to his ear then mimed talking. Peter nodded, drawing his gun from his side holster and moving around to the other side. He saw Neal open the door and slip inside before he himself disappeared around the corner. He moved quickly, now hearing the voices that Neal had indicated. They were raised, arguing, one male and one female.

Suddenly, there was a gunshot and Peter felt his heart leap into his throat as his stomach hit his knees.  _Neal._

He burst through the side door, immediately seeing a body on the floor, thanking whatever God decided to smile on him that day that it was a blond male in his late twenties in a pile of blood, not a dark-haired, blue eyed beauty.

Neal was across the room from him, motioning for him to stay back as he spoke to a sobbing young woman holding a gun but she wasn't paying him any mind.

"We were just trying to get out ahead, just enough to take care of ourselves. We said $50,000, then we'd be out. But that came and went."

"I know how it feels," Neal said softly, soothingly, as he moved closer to her. He was reaching for her but the gun was in the hand opposite him. "The adrenaline, the thrill…it's addictive."

But she wouldn't look away from the body. "He wouldn't quit…he said, if I didn't help him…he pulled a gun on me…"

"It's over now…just let it go. It's all over now…"

She turned, finally, and looked at him, then turned and looked at Peter. Peter felt his heart sink as he recognized the look in her eyes. She raised the gun to her head.

"No…"

The gunshot echoed against the steel rafters, reverberating in the air and Peter ran forward as she fell, kneeling to check her pulse from habit then turned to Neal.

Neal was frozen, his eyes wide, stunned. His face, neck, and chest were bathed in gleaming red blood. As Peter drew closer, he could see Neal was shaking.

"Neal, it's okay."

"Peter," Neal breathed, not looking to either side as Peter laid a hand on his shoulder. Blood dripped from his hair, his hands, running down his neck. The white shirt was ruined. "Get it off."

* * *

Less than an hour later, the FBI was salvaging the crime scene, carting off the two bodies and Peter turned as Diane drove up.

"How's Neal?"

"In shock. He didn't say a word on the way but June promised to keep a close eye on him."

Peter nodded. "These were definitely our art thieves. We found every piece they hadn't fenced yet and a book keeping track of where each piece went." He sighed. "I can't believe how long it took us to find them. They were amateurs, bad amateurs."

"Why does the best swordsman fear the beginner?"

Peter blinked. "What?"

"Because he hasn't learned the rules yet." Diane finished with a smile.

"You sound like Mozzie."

Behind them, the doors closed on the two corpses and the ambulance began its solemn drive back to the morgue. Peter followed it with a look, his mouth set in a grim line.

"We should've caught them before this happened."

He turned, looking back to the warehouse then back to her. "Diane, you're in charge. Finish up here. I'm going to check on Neal."

"You got it, Boss."

* * *

The hot water had long since given over to cold but Neal just couldn't bring himself to get out of the shower yet. He poured more shower gel onto the cloth and soaped up again, making sure to get under his fingernails and in the tiny crevices of skin just  _one more time._ He ran his hands through his hair, scrubbing his scalp until it hurt. Then he just stood under the water and let it rinse everything away.

He forced himself out of the shower and dried off, wrapping the towel around his waist before combing his hair back. He ran a hand over his face, looking at himself in the foggy mirror. Part of him thought he should call Peter to make sure the case had wrapped up okay but he knew he would ask how he was feeling, if he was okay…and frankly, Neal didn't even know where to begin.

Neal took a deep breath and let it out slowly, covering his mouth with his hands folded and closing his eyes. The scene played over in his mind. The young girl arguing with her boyfriend, him pulling a gun, her fighting him, shooting him, shooting herself, the burst of blood…Neal fought back the tears, shaking. He had to keep moving, keep running, because if he slowed down, it would all catch up to him and he'd fall. So he shook his head, swallowed the lump in his throat, and walked down the hall back to his bedroom.

Where there was someone waiting for him.

"Peter!" Neal yelped, surprised. He clutched at the towel, the only thing he was wearing. "What are you doing here?"

Peter turned then blinked at his apparel, or lack thereof. "You're in a towel."

"I was taking a shower," Neal defended incredulously. He waited then his gaze narrowed, watching Peter. He wasn't 100% but he was pretty sure Peter was checking him out. He followed the FBI agent's gaze as it traveled down his body and was surprised at how flattered it made him feel.

"Peter."

Peter looked back up to meet his gaze guiltily and Neal smiled, reiterating. "Why are you here?"

"I came to check on you. Diane said you looked like crap."

"I feel like crap."

His initial thought was to move past Peter to his closet and get dressed but that long look had gotten his attention, distracted him. He slipped past Peter to lean against the counter by the sink, folding his arms over his chest. It had become a con, let Peter see a little of how he was feeling to gauge Peter's reaction…and see if he could catch him with that lusty look again.

"I keep playing what happened in my head." Neal started shakily. "I keep thinking, what if we'd gotten there sooner? Worked harder, figured it out faster, months ago, when we first started investigating…they'd still be alive."

True enough and he did feel like crap. He took a shaky breath, letting Peter see his red-rimmed eyes. The change in Peter was instantaneous. He was no longer distant and cautious due to Neal's lack of clothing; he was immediately at Neal's side, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"It wasn't your fault, Neal. You can't blame yourself."

"I can." Neal countered, looking up at him. "I'm the one who's done this before. I've made those decisions, with Kate, stealing to get a better life for us both. I couldn't stop and I ended up in prison. What if that had been me? What if that had been Kate?"

"But it wasn't. And you did stop. You walked away; you said it yourself this morning. You haven't done anything worse than speed in months."

"You forced me to stop."

"I gave you the opportunity. Just like you gave that girl the opportunity to put down the gun and come with us. She chose not to take it. That isn't your fault."

Neal found himself seeing Peter differently in that moment. Peter would never be able to mingle with the devilishly good-looking but he had a home-grown beauty that was attractive in its own simplistic way. He was suddenly aware of the intensity of the space between them, the angle left by their positions to one another. He felt the roughness of Peter's calloused hand in his hair, sliding up from his shoulder, supportive and yet strangely erotic.

"Peter,"

A new scene was playing in his mind, crowding out the death of the nameless art thief. Himself as he reached up, pulling Peter down to his lips, Peter kissing him, hard and intense, as he worked Peter's jacket and shirt off, Peter lifting him onto the counter, the towel falling away, the coarse feel of Peter's discount suit on the inside of his thigh as he wrapped his legs around Peter's waist…

"I should probably put some clothes on,"

Peter blinked, the silence broken. For a moment, he'd thought he'd seen something in the way Neal was looking at him.

"That's a good idea,"

Neal grinned before nodding, disappearing into his closet and Peter let out a sigh he didn't know he'd been holding.

"Neal?"

"Yeah?" Neal called from inside the closet. Peter walked to the door, turned, and leaned against the wall.

"Can I tell you something?"

Neal looked up from buttoning his pants, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was flushed and more than a little aroused. He immediately began taking off the pants he'd chosen, switching to a pair with a looser fit.

"Sure, Peter," he answered seriously, passing up a button-up for a black cotton shirt. Then he decided it was too form-fitting, not to mention hot and it was 90 degrees already outside. He switched back to a blue button up, leaving it partially unbuttoned.

"Neal, I…I really…"

_Tell him how you feel…_

Peter stopped short as Neal came out dressed in loose khaki slacks and a light-blue shirt that off-set his eyes, still-wet tousled hair clinging to his neck in places.

"I really like you." He forced out.

Neal smiled, a cheeky grin and instantly, Peter knew Neal didn't get what he meant.

"Aw, I like you too, Peter. I'm glad we're friends."

"Yeah, friends," Peter uttered, resigned. "Me too."


	2. Decisions, Decisions

Peter didn't stay much longer after that and Neal didn't really blame him. After all, he'd essentially just rejected him. But Neal had no idea how to deal with the sudden realization that his boss/partner/case agent/co-worker, who was married no less, had a crush on him. And it was enough of a crush to want to tell him about it. Peter never did anything without thinking it through which meant, at the very least, he had been thinking about this, thinking about cheating on Elizabeth, for a long time.

What made it worse in his own mind was that he wanted to.

He wanted to call Peter, right then, and ask him to come over. To let Peter slide into bed next to him, to feel their bodies sliding together in a ritual act as old as time itself…the more he thought about it, the more he wanted it.

Neal closed the book he'd been reading, letting it sit on his bare chest as he stared up at the ceiling, the silk pajama pants he wore rustling as he tapped his foot against the footboard. It had been a very long time since he'd been with another man, seven or eight years at the least. He really did prefer women but he wasn't above considering a gay relationship if it presented itself. And boy, was it presenting itself.

Peter didn't do flings. He'd had his own wife under surveillance before he even asked her out. Peter was serious and intense and determined and…this was not helping. Neal set the book aside and rolled over, pulling the pillow up under his chin as he lay on his stomach. The clock on the wall was pushing 3 a.m. but he was no closer to falling asleep than he had been eight hours ago.

He blinked and looked up at the obvious sound of someone trying to pick the lock on the door. Amused, Neal sat up and watched as a moment later, Mozzie pushed the door open and entered, shutting it behind him.

"Moz!"

"Good morning, mon frère,"

"You have a key."

Moz shrugged as he immediately went to the wine rack, looking at Neal's selection. Neal sighed and shook his head, reaching behind him for a shirt and pulling it on over his head.

"There's shiraz in the decanter. Goes nicely with the lobster ravioli June brought me for dinner."

"Ooo, yes."

Mozzie helped himself to a glass and took the plate out of the oven where Neal had set it earlier.

"I heard what happened earlier. I came as fast as I could. Though you're surprisingly calm, I expected to find you a nervous wreck, not…"

He looked up to find Neal was no longer paying him any attention, his eyes staring forward blankly as his thoughts turned internal.

"…dark and contemplative."

"Hm?" Neal looked up at him.

"You know, your phobia of blood which is why you don't like guns? The stuff you got a face full of today? You don't seem upset by it."

"Yeah, well," Neal got up and went to sit next to him at the table. "Peter hit me with something this afternoon that has me fully distracted."

Mozzie shook his head. "No, no, no, that look you just had? That wasn't your 'Suit' look, that was your 'I'm-considering-a-new-potentially- _fatal_ -romance' look."

Neal gave him a  _look_  and Mozzie blinked in surprise.

"Wait, you're considering a new potentially fatal romance with the Suit? What about Ms. Suit?"

"Hence the dark and contemplative." Neal sighed, sitting back and pouring himself a glass of wine.

"And he sprung this on you tonight?"

Neal nodded.

"What exactly did he say?"

"He said, 'I really like you' which for Peter is like a marriage proposal."

"Hm," Mozzie fell silent as he began eating and Neal wondered if he should be telling Mozzie. He had no idea how his friend would react but he cared just as much about El as he himself did.

"Just this morning," Neal laughed, shaking his head. "I was telling him how perfect his and El's relationship is, how cute it was that they are always giving for each other."

Mozzie shifted then gestured wildly. "That's it. Ms. Suit knows that he likes you."

Neal blinked in surprise, his eyes narrowed as he contemplated what Mozzie was saying. Mozzie put down his glass and turned towards him.

"Think about it. For as long as we've known Mr. and Ms. Suit, they are perfectly synced to one another. The Suit tells her everything. So, if he wants you, there's a high probability Ms. Suit already knows about it."

"So I should talk to Elizabeth."

"If you seriously want to go through with this, then yes," Mozzie added with a shrug. "Personally, it's one of the weirder things I think you've gotten yourself into."

"Probably." Neal laughed.

"Though it makes sense. After so many years balancing multiple women while flirting shamelessly whenever necessary, you must now balance a man and a woman that are just as much in love with each other as with you. It's poetic."

"Moz?"

"Hm?"

"Shut up."

* * *

Peter finished off his fifth beer, watching a rerun of the Giants' game with the sound muted. It was almost 3 am but he couldn't bring himself to go to bed just yet. He felt miserable. Seriously, what had he been thinking? In what world would the devilishly charming and gorgeous Neal Caffrey be interested in boring old Peter Burke?

"Honey, why are you still up?"

Elizabeth, dressed only in his old t-shirt, took in the empty beer bottles and sighed. "So you told him."

"He didn't even blink. Just rolled off of him like it was nothing."

Peter shifted as she sat down next to him, popping the top on his next beer. Elizabeth looked at him sadly as he took a long drink.

"I've never told a guy I liked him before," Peter admitted slowly. "I only ever kissed this boy down the street when I was twelve, this kid named Bobby Singer. What was I thinking? _The_ Neal Caffrey couldn't possibly be interested in me."

Elizabeth sighed, tucking herself against his side. "What exactly happened?"

"I went over to Neal's, he was just getting out of the shower. We talked, he got dressed, I said 'I really like you' and he said "Aw, I like you too, Peter. I'm glad we're friends.'"

"It's not like Neal to be that oblivious."

"Which is why," Peter continued. "He's not oblivious. He's aware but pretending to be oblivious so I don't feel bad that he doesn't want to fuck me."

Elizabeth frowned at her husband. "You're drunk."

"Can you blame me?" He let his head flop against her shoulder and Elizabeth adjusted for the added weight, wrapping her arms around him. "I'm sorry. Here you are, listening to me moan about someone else."

Elizabeth laid her head against her husband's. "I know you love me. But I also know you love Neal just as much as you love me."

Peter looked up at her and she pecked his lips.

"Think of how much of a shock this would be for Neal. You're married, you've been more of a father figure to him than anything else, and now you're suddenly interested in him romantically?"

Blinking, Peter nestled more firmly against her. "Well, when you say it that way…"

"He also doesn't know that I know and am okay with a relationship between you two. I may even find it enticing."

"Oh?"

"Well, Neal  _is_  pretty…and smart, and funny. He likes art and can help me cook. Having both of you would make me the luckiest woman in the world."

Peter smiled. "And I'd be the luckiest man in the world. If only Neal saw it that way."

Elizabeth kissed him. "Give him time. No one can resist my charms for long, not even  _the_  Neal Caffrey."

Elizabeth helped Peter stretch out on the couch and laid a blanket over him, cutting off the TV and throwing away the empty beer bottles. She kissed his forehead and headed back upstairs to go back to bed. As she was lying down, her phone buzzed on the bedside table, showing a text message from Neal.

_Lunch tomorrow? My treat. Need to talk about Peter._

Elizabeth smiled. "I love being right."

_Sure! Where/when?_

_Per Se, 11am?_

Her eyebrows rose and Elizabeth shook her head, trying to hide her grin. It was going to be fun having a man around who shared her taste for exquisite food. Neal was going to be both a boy toy and a girl friend.

_See you then._

She set the phone back down and settled into her pillows, pulling the blanket up to her chin. She was half asleep when the phone buzzed again.

_Thank you._

* * *

The next morning, Peter was late getting to work. When he woke up, El had already gone and he shoved down some cereal and almost spoiled milk before getting caught in traffic. By the time he reached the office, it was almost eleven o'clock.

"Hey, Boss."

"Morning, Diana," Peter murmured, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Where's Neal?"

"He's been and gone. Already solved the case Hughes had for you two this morning. Guy stole a stucco painting at the new gallery across town and replaced it with a forgery. Neal spotted that he left a fingerprint in the plaster. Made an arrest twenty minutes ago and Neal asked if he could go to lunch early. He should be back later if you need him."

"He'd make a good agent wouldn't he?" Peter murmured.

Diana nodded. "Yeah, I think he's really found his calling here. Frankly, I'm nervous that when he gets his anklet off in a few months, he's going to high-tail it out of New York and we'll never see him again."

Peter tried not to show how much that Neal's absence would devastate him even as he admitted its probability.

"He'll come back," He said quietly and Diana smiled. "But someone like Neal, being in New York for four years…he'll need a vacation."

After all, he and El had taken several vacations over the past three and a half years and Neal had always been left behind. He never said a word or complained but Peter had always seen the longing, the borderline psychosis. Neal had traveled the world and now he was confined to a two-mile radius inside New York City. He couldn't imagine what it would've been like for him, always seeing his friends leave and never being able to go with them.

He felt sorry for Neal in a way he hadn't ever before. Before, he'd justified the hardships of Neal's arrangement by saying it was better than prison and he was still serving his sentence. But Neal had long since paid for his crimes.

* * *

Elizabeth met Neal outside the classy restaurant and immediately gave him a hug. Judging from the way he stiffened minutely in her arms before relaxing, she knew she'd been precisely correct about why he had rejected her husband. But she played dumb.

"What's this about, Neal? You said you needed to talk about Peter, is something wrong?"

"Maybe," Neal said softly. "Maybe not. I just needed to talk to you."

He glanced at his watch then offered her his arm. "It's just about eleven. Let's not miss our reservation shall we?"

"Let's not." She laughed and took his arm, following him inside. A lovely lady with blonde curls met them just inside.

"May I help you?"

"Yes, 11 o'clock reservation for Richards,"

Elizabeth blinked at the unfamiliar last name and looked up at Neal who winked at her. The hostess smiled as she found the name.

"Right this way, please."

She led them upstairs to a light-filled veranda just outside, a light breeze blowing. Giant blue flowers wafted in the summer wind, giving the whole scene an ethereal feel.

"Who's Richards?" Elizabeth asked when they were alone.

"Just an old alias of mine." Neal answered calmly, helping her to her seat before taking his own. "'Neal Caffrey' doesn't exactly get fond looks in places like this. I use to steal from the people who frequent these places."

"And Richards?"

Neal smiled softly, fondly. "Richards is a good kid. Not spectacularly good at anything but a good kid nonetheless. Guess that's why I picked him for today."

Elizabeth gave him her best smile and he blushed, looking down as where his hands lay folded in his lap.

"I suppose I'll get straight to it. El, last night Peter…"

"Oh, Neal," she laughed, cutting him off. "I know."

His eyebrows rose and his lips perked in a cute little 'o.' "'Know?'"

"About Peter having a crush on you. Though, it's been getting to be a little more than crush quite recently."

"Oh, please continue," Neal smiled, pouring her a glass of wine.

"He had a crush on you back when he was first working your case. The work you were doing was the kind that intrigued him and you were sophisticated, intelligent…the kind of criminal he loves chasing. But when he found out how cute you were, oh, that changed the game entirely."

Neal was grinning, watching her over his glass.

"And then, the past couple of years, bonding with you, learning about you, helping you find your own path…he's completely in love with you."

The sight of Neal Caffrey blushing was certainly one accomplishment that was hers alone.

"So…all this time…then when I was pining over Kate, and then Sara…"

"I could always tell when you had a new someone," El teased. "Peter would come home and it'd be written all over him that you were taken again, one more step away from him. I told him to tell you a thousand times but he always found a reason not to."

"But," Neal suddenly looked crestfallen. "Where does that leave you?"

"Where does that leave me?" Elizabeth repeated in disbelief. "It leaves me with an amazing husband who loves me and is adorable and sweet and funny and, should he choose to accept the mission, with an incredible boyfriend who likes opera and caviar and will take me to a gallery opening while my husband watches the Giants game with Jones and Diana."

Neal laughed, sitting back and glancing through his menu before setting it to one side and leaning forward again. He shook his head lightly.

"I…I don't know, El. It's all so sudden, I mean…last night…I am definitely attracted to Peter and you're a beautiful woman. But you and Peter…you're the best friends I've ever had. I don't want to lose that."

Elizabeth slipped from her seat and moved to the one next to Neal, taking his hand. "Oh, Neal."

He turned his head to her, his eyes bright. "Tell me nothing will go wrong."

"It won't," she promised. "It will only get better."

She brushed her fingertips over his cheek and his eyes fluttered at the contact, leading him to lean into her touch minutely. His hand trembled in hers as she ghosted her lips over his, catching him by surprise. She smiled as he looked at her, incredulous, and then leaned in again.

This time, he kissed her back.


	3. Backlogged

Neal Caffrey was looking more than a little smug when he rejoined the White Collar Crime Unit after lunch and Peter noted he wasn't the only one to notice.

"Someone had a good lunch." Jones commented as Neal swept by, half-jogging up the steps to slide into Peter's office. Neal just grinned as he passed, offering an innocent shrug.

"Morning, Peter,"

Peter looked up as Neal took the seat in front of his desk.

"Good morning,"

"El called this morning, said you were sick. You feeling okay?"

"Yeah, just had one too many beers last night and overslept."

Neal's smile faded and he looked concerned. "You were drunk? I can't imagine you drunk."

"It happens more often than you think," Peter replied without looking up from his paperwork. "…probably."

Neal frowned, wondering if Peter's drunkenness had been his fault. He needed to do something to make it up to his friend…boyfriend?...as well as tell Peter he'd reconsidered his offer.

"Congrats on the case today."

"Thanks." Neal gave a winning smile but Peter still wasn't looking at him. Neal pouted, this was not going as he planned. Was Peter not even going to look at him?

Peter was terrified to look at Neal. He couldn't see the face that had denied him the very night before, couldn't feel the ache now that Neal knew how he felt and had rejected him. He didn't want to see Neal's 'love me I'm cute' smile.

Neal was quiet though and the silence built up, just as it had yesterday in the car. He listened to the click of the pens as Neal idly played with them.

"How was lunch?" Peter asked, trying to inject some life into the conversation.

Neal latched onto the opportunity. "Oh, it was great. El says hi."

Peter almost looked up. "You went out to lunch with El?"

"She didn't tell you? Oh, she must've left before you got up. Yep, we went out for lunch. That's why I had to leave early."

Peter tried to imagine the smug grin Neal had on his face right now. "Oh."

He remembered El saying something about using her charms to win Neal over. About maybe he'd hesitated because he didn't want to hurt El. Could Neal still possibly want him/them? Did they still have a chance?

"What did you two talk about?" Peter asked hesitantly, shifting his paperwork around so he could steal a glance at Neal. Neal was no longer looking at him, idly flicking a pen from one side of the mug to the other.

"Oh, nothing much, how much her business is blossoming, price of caviar versus wine, how much she wants to see Wicked but can't find anyone to go with…I'm sure you're aware of this, but your wife is a really great kisser."

Peter's hand froze in the middle of his own signature. "You kissed…my wife?"

Neal was watching him again, grinning, his hat cocked lazily to one side. "Actually, she kissed me first but that's just semantics."

He held up a record request Peter had filled out shortly before Neal had come back from lunch.

"You need this file? I'll go get it for you."

"We have clerks for that," Peter stuttered, still stunned that El had kissed Neal.

"You have something better. You have me." Neal finished with a grin, sauntering out of the office.

Peter sat back, watching Neal as he headed out of the office. He didn't look back once but there seemed to be an unusual swagger to his walk, like he was more confident than usual.

"He kissed…my wife."

Just like that, Peter was up and down the stairs, following Neal out.

"You ok, Boss?"

"Fine, Diana." Peter responded quickly, turning outside the glass doors to follow Neal.

Down the hall, Neal had stopped and was grinning at him, hands in his pockets, hat lopsided. Classic Neal.

"Neal," Peter murmured as Neal walked forward, disappearing down a hallway. Peter ran forward just in time to see Neal turn a corner at the end of the hall.

"Dammit, Neal, why are you making me chase you?" he hissed before walking after him quickly. As he turned the corner, he heard the sound of a door clicking shut and ran forward to see Neal's hat hanging off a doorknob a few feet further down. It opened easily onto a darkened room full of long shelves, boxes of discarded evidence stacked neatly.

"Neal?" Peter called into the darkness.

"Did you know that this room isn't on the FBI's building plans? I wonder what secrets it holds. Mozzie would have a field day."

Peter tried to peer past the shelves but couldn't make out any movement. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dark and he moved further inside.

"This also means that technically, we are no longer inside the FBI."

"Technically."

He felt a hand on his waist and it took all his focus not to leap in surprise. It helped that the hand was now sliding seductively around his waist and suddenly Neal was in front of him, so close he could feel the other man's chest as he breathed.

"I really like you, Peter," Neal said softly, repeating Peter's own words back to him. The dim light somehow made his bright blue eyes more pronounced, even half-lidded as they were. He watched Neal's face as the younger man drew his arm from around Peter's waist. He had never seen Neal look so calm, so content, his lips parted slightly as if slightly winded already.

Peter swallowed hard as Neal ran a hand up his chest and over his shoulder, stepping closer so they were pressed together. He slid an arm around Neal's slim waist, not daring to believe what was happening. He half-wanted to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Eight years…eight years of wanting and he couldn't close the two inches between his and Neal's lips.

He watched as Neal smiled, seeming to sense his dilemma because he stretched up on his toes, wrapping his arms around Peter's neck, to press their lips together. Peter let out a soft groan at the simple contact, wrapping his arms tightly around Neal as if he might disappear. He was suddenly aware how small, how fragile, Neal was. He ran his hands over the firm muscle beneath the cloth of Neal's suit, amazed that he could finally do so without hindrance.

Neal's lips were softer than he had imagined and when those lips parted for him, Peter agreed that not even in his wildest dreams had Neal tasted as good as he did now. He pushed the jacket from Neal's shoulders, pulling the white shirt untucked as he walked Neal backwards against a desk he'd seen there earlier, eager to get his hands on Neal's bare skin.

All the while, Neal was driving the kiss, his hands wrapped in Peter's hair as he tangled their tongues together. Peter couldn't help but groan under Neal's expertise, frustrated with all the tiny buttons on Neal's shirt. Neal laughed as Peter broke the kiss to focus on getting each one undone so he didn't rip Neal's shirt. Once it was off, Peter took a moment to simply slide his hands over Neal's toned chest. Suddenly, Neal squirmed as Peter's hands ghosted over his sides.

"That tickles," Neal complained, pouting cutely, and Peter kissed him, drinking in his scent. Neal wrapped his legs around Peter's waist, unbuttoning his shirt. He had to say he was a little surprised at how fast Peter was in getting his clothes off but then again, Elizabeth had said Peter had wanted him since the start of the case. That was a great deal of pent-up lust.

"Hey, why is this door locked?"

They both froze, Peter looking back at the door and Neal looking over his shoulder. For a moment, a shadow darkened the doorway, jiggling the handle. Then it was gone.

"They'll be back," Neal murmured and Peter cursed, stepping back so Neal could slip off the desk. Neal hopped down and pulled Peter back by his belt.

"My place, tonight. 8 o'clock." He whispered.

Peter sealed the date with a kiss.

The duo slid stealthily back to the main room, Peter going to finish his paperwork and Neal decided to stop by Diana's desk, prompting a conversation about interior design since she and Christy were redecorating.

"Neal, are you ok?"

Neal blinked as she interrupted his statement on proper neutrals in the living space. "Of course, why?"

"You missed a button." Diana laughed, pointing to the offense in the middle of his stomach.

Neal shook his head, chuckling as he corrected the buttoning of his shirt, smoothing the fabric.

"Were you making out in a closet somewhere?"

"Storage room," Neal corrected, his eyes flashing.

"Better not let Peter catch you, he'll have you back in prison so fast…"

"You know," Neal winked at her. "I think that joke's getting really old."

* * *

June waved amiably to Peter when he arrived and he smiled, going straight up stairs to Neal's loft. He hesitated outside the door. He wasn't exactly sure why. He thought back to the office and then to the night before when Neal had acted like his confession was nothing. Then the sudden turn around, was there something Neal wasn't telling him? What would Neal stand to gain from leading him on like this?

"Come on in, Peter!"

Peter smiled. Of course Neal knew he was already out here.

He opened the door to find the small dining table elegantly set, candles burning. Neal himself was standing in the doorway to the balcony, holding a glass of wine and a bottle of beer, dressed in a nearly sheer white shirt, untucked, and black slacks. As he walked over, handing Peter the beer, Peter noticed that he wasn't wearing shoes, only black socks.

"I was going to cook dinner but I thought you might want dessert first,"

Peter swallowed hard, setting the beer on the counter. "I think you dressed that way just so I'd think that and you wouldn't have to cook,"

"You know me so well," Neal laughed. He leaned up and pecked Peter's lips lightly before sauntering past, shutting and locking the door.

* * *

Sunlight streamed into the loft and Neal found himself wondering again why he never invested in curtains. They would be extremely helpful on mornings like this when all he wanted to do was lay in bed next to the warm body that had decided to accompany him. He turned, pressing himself more firmly into Peter's side, hiding from the sun's bright rays. Peter shifted in his sleep and wrapped his arms around Neal before blinking rapidly in an attempt to wake up, looking around in surprise at the elegance Neal surrounded himself with then down at the sleeping beauty next to him. He gently ran his hands through Neal's tousled hair, causing the latter to blink and look up at him, eyelashes fluttering in the bright sun.

"Good morning," Neal murmured, stretching. Peter leaned down to kiss him.

A cell phone buzzing broke them out of their afterglow and Peter looked around, patting the blankets to find the source.

"Is it mine or yours?"

Neal laughed lightly before crawling out of bed and crossing over to where both their phones were sitting on the dining table.

"Yours," he announced before answering it. "Hi El!"

Peter scowled and motioned for Neal to return to the bed, which Neal ignored. Peter glanced to the open windows then back to his naked love before wrapping a blanket around his waist and pulling Neal back over into the seclusion of the 'bedroom.'

"Yes, Peter's still here." Neal was still talking on the phone and Peter sat next to him, trying to hear.

"She wants to know how last night was," Neal stage-whispered to him and Peter gave him a look.

"Give me my phone, Neal."

Neal laughed but handed the device over, flopping back on the bed and curling up under the blankets.

"Hey El," Peter greeted his wife happily, lying back next to Neal.

" _Hey, honey! Seriously, how was last night?"_

"Pretty incredible," Peter answered, smoothing a few wayward curls out of Neal's face. Neal smiled without opening his eyes.

" _You know you have to share Neal, right?"_

Peter laughed at the teasing tone in his wife's voice. "Sure, hon, I'll bring him over tonight and chain him up and let you have your way with him."

"Sounds kinky," Neal murmured.

" _Sounds great,"_  Elizabeth laughed.  _"Enjoy your day off."_

"Bye, El. Love you."

" _Love you too, sweetie. Give Neal a kiss for me."_

Peter hit the end button and leaned down, kissing Neal's cheek. "That's from El."

He shifted his weight as Neal rolled towards him and kissed him firmly, earning a groan from Neal as he arched up into Peter. "That's from me."

"Mmmm," Neal hummed, stretching then sliding to straddle Peter. "You have the most amazing wife, you know that?"

"You don't have to tell me twice." Peter chuckled. "Most women wouldn't dream of letting me have you."

"Well, she wants me too," Neal teased. "But to her I'm more like the world's best fashion accessory."

"Oh?"

"I provide commentary as well as look good."

Peter laughed, pulling Neal down for a kiss. He took a moment to revel in the way Neal's body felt, pressed against his chest, the lean frame that belied the smooth muscular strength beneath, so fragile and yet so strong.

"I love you, Neal," Peter whispered and Neal's head rose from his chest, looking up at him as if surprised.

The damn cell phone interrupted his answer.

"It's Hughes," Neal hissed, falling still and silent before Peter answered. He listened quietly as Peter spoke to their boss.

"Yes, sir, we'll be right there."

" _And pick up Caffrey too. We may need him."_

"What's going on?" Neal asked when Peter hung up the phone.

"The mayor's son has been kidnapped along with two other guys he was with. Hurry, get dressed."

* * *

Jones met them at the door when they arrived about an hour later. "Hughes is calling in everyone. The mayor is pissed and wants his son back yesterday."

"Who are the other two kids that were taken?"

"One's Allen Frank, Liam Frank's son."

"The politician?"

"Yeah, and he's been blowing up the phone too. The other one's just some random kid from a backwater town in Missouri named Matthew Richards."

Behind them, Neal stopped walking, frozen. Missouri?

Peter stopped and turned. "Neal?"

"Matthew Richards? Matthew Neal Richards from Lakeshire, Missouri?"

Jones turned around now. "How did you know that? We just got that information less than five minutes ago."

Neal stepped back and Peter saw panic in his eyes as he ran both hands through his hair. Neal cast around, as if searching for something. "Neal?"

Suddenly, Neal turned and ran back to his desk, grabbing the phone and dialing a number Peter couldn't see.

"Neal, do you know something?"

"Sh,"

"You don't…"

Neal motioned again for him to be quiet and Peter could hear the phone ringing.

" _Hello?"_

"Hello, am I speaking with Bella Richards?"

" _Yes, but this isn't a very good…"_

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but this is Neal Caffrey calling from the FBI. Can you tell me the whereabouts of your son, Matthew?"

"… _is this a joke?"_

"No, ma'am,"

" _Well, if you were with the FBI, you would know that my son, Matthew, has been kidnapped by thugs while in New York City. So fuck off, Mr. Caffrey."_

"Mom, it's me," Neal whispered and Peter's breath caught in his throat. Jones did a double take and mouthed  _'Mom?'_  to Diana as she walked up.

"… _George?"_


	4. The Lost One

Peter motioned for Jones to give Neal some space and both he and Diana headed back up to the conference room. Neal ran a hand through his hair, obviously pained.

" _George, where the hell are you?"_

"I'm at the FBI in New York City. I work there as a consultant," Neal answered monotonously. Peter pulled the seat from the desk nearby and sat down next to him. Neal's gaze flicked to him before returning to the phone. He looked miserable. "Look, I'm going to find Matt. If anyone can find him, Agent Peter Burke can."

" _Paul and I are taking the next flight to New York. I_ will _see you there."_

"Yes ma'am."

Neal hung up the phone and ran his hands over his face.

"Neal,"

Neal turned to look at Peter, instantly recognizing the look on this face.

"All this time…"

"Don't say it, Peter. I've told you. I may have let you draw certain conclusions that weren't correct but I've never actually lied to you."

"But you let me think Neal Caffrey was your real name."

Neal sighed. "There's a reason you couldn't find anything on me past my eighteenth birthday. I made absolutely certain there was no way anyone could trace Neal George Caffrey to George Alexander Richards. I had to."

Peter looked away, trying to reconcile once again that there was still something about Neal that he didn't know. And after he had finally admitted how he felt and they were together and things were going so well.

"Peter,"

Peter looked up as Neal's fingertips lightly brushed his knee. Neal's eyes were bright, begging in that heart-wrenching way he had when he was telling the truth, begging Peter to believe him. Peter had seen it too many times now not to recognize it and it made him begrudgingly back down.

"You're going to tell me…"

"…everything. I swear. But please…help me find my brother."

Peter sighed, looking at Neal, trying to find the words. "George, huh? Can't picture you as a George."

"Well, it is my chosen middle name."

"I never liked it then either."

"Don't let my mom hear you say that."

Hughes stepped out of the conference room and pointed at them both, motioning for them to join the growing team in the search for the three missing men. Peter took his seat at the head of the table and Neal stood behind him, leaning against the glass, as all the other seats were taken.

"All right," Hughes started. "These three men were last seen leaving a club downtown last night. We have security cameras down the road showing they were confronted by several men and forced into a van."

"Any luck on the plates?"

"We have a team working on the video now. Now we've identified the three men as Kyle Bloomberg, Mayor Bloomberg's son, Allen Frank, Liam Frank's son, and Matthew Richards."

"Neal Caffrey's brother," Jones inserted and quiet fell over the room, everyone look back at Neal who looked down and shook his head.

"Thanks, Jones," Neal sighed sarcastically.

"No problem."

"Caffrey, is this your brother?" Hughes asked and Neal looked up.

"Yes, Matthew is my brother."

"All right, everyone, this just became personal. Let's move."

The group mobilized but Hughes stopped Neal on the way out.

"Neal, I have to know who you really are. I can't have you working here under an alias."

"I'll tell you in confidence but can we find Matthew first?"

Hughes regarded him silently before nodding. "Caffrey, I want you to go home."

"What? No!"

"If that kid's your brother you are too close to this case. Go home, we can handle this. We found you, after all."

"Peter found me," Neal corrected and Peter put a hand on his shoulder.

"Trust me, Neal. I'll find him."

Neal looked up at him and sighed. "Fine. I'll go."

"I'll have Diana take you home."

"I'll take a cab." Neal pulled away, shoving his hands in his pockets as he headed for the door.

Hughes waited until Caffrey was out the door before turning to Peter. "Any chance he's going home?"

"None."

Outside, Neal was walking towards the coffee shop and pulled out his cell phone, quickly dialing Mozzie's number.

" _I had a feeling you'd be calling. This is about the kidnapping right?"_

"Yeah,"

" _No, thank you. I'd rather not get mixed up in the bureaucratic struggle about to commence. Let your suit friends handle this one."_

"They sent me home. I'm too close to the case."

" _What? Why?"_

"Moz, that third kid they took? He's my brother."

"… _I'm on it."_

"Thanks, Moz."

" _And listen, Neal? Just let me handle this. I really don't want you going off half-cocked again."_

Neal sighed. "Why does everyone assume I'm going to do something stupid?"

" _Because that's what you do in times like this."_

Neal sighed again as Mozzie hung up and looked at his phone with resignation. What should he do know? Trust Peter and Mozzie to find his brother? Sit around and wait? He was never good at that and now Peter knew his real name, and soon the whole White Collar unit would as well.

The old fear came back. If Peter and the others knew, the secret would get out. Hughes might even require he go back to his birth name. If that happened…he tried not to think about it. The sudden urge to run hit him and the anklet weighed heavier on his leg than ever, anchoring him to New York City. If word got out George Richards was alive and well, he'd be a sitting target.

He dialed a number quickly, his heart pounding against the inane fear: fear for his brother, fear for himself.

" _Neal, is everything ok? I just saw the news, you two must be at the Bureau now."_

"Peter is, I'm not," Neal responded bitterly. "Can I come over?"

" _Sure sweetie! Come right over, I'll have lunch waiting."_

"Thanks, El,"

Neal sighed as he ended the call, looking out at the traffic and past that, the buildings, an ever growing expanse of architecture. And somewhere inside it, his brother was in trouble.

* * *

The steady drip of water on stone was the first thing he heard. He groaned, his head felt like someone was driving a nail into it. He pushed himself up on his hands and knees and looked around. They were in a cement bunker, the water dripping from a leaky pipe above their heads. The only entrance looked to be a steel door with a wheel in the center. His eyes went wide.

They were in a drainage cistern, water tight. He looked up and saw what he originally thought was a leaky pipe was an open one. Somewhere above them would be another wheel, this one letting the water in.

He turned as one of his companions started to groan. "Al! Are you okay?"

Allen groaned and sat up, looking around. "Define okay."

Matthew helped him stand up and then went to Kyle's side, shaking him lightly. Kyle had a nasty red welt on his temple and didn't stir. Matt bent to check and make sure he was breathing before straightening up.

"Where are we, Matt?"

Allen was shivering, dressing only in black slacks and a white dress shirt. Matt quickly took off his faded green military jacket and laid it over his shoulders. Behind him, Kyle groaned and stirred. Matt rushed over to steady him.

"Get off me, fag." Kyle snapped, weakly pushing Matt away.

"Hey!" Allen shouted, the sound echoing in the close room.

Matt ignored the insult and helped Kyle to his feet despite the scowl the latter was giving him.

"How the fuck did I end up in here with you two?"

"The men who grabbed us, I think they were after you." Matt said softly.

"So it's my fault then?" Kyle snapped.

"No, it's no one's fault. We're just here."

Kyle scowled, circling the room. Allen moved quickly to Matt's side. Looking at them, Kyle's lip curled in disgust.

"Can't believe I'm stuck in here with you two fags."

"Okay, seriously, can we kill him and blame the kidnappers?"

Matt smiled affectionately at his boyfriend. "I'd rather you not be a murderer. I like your innocence."

"Can you two just fucking quit that?"

Allen flicked his middle finger at Kyle. Matt shook his head, looking up and around them. He ran a hand over his military buzz cut and tried to think of something they could do, anything.

"So do we just sit here and wait for those guys to come back?"

"Looks like all we can do," Matt sighed. "And hope that someone out there is looking for us."

The door creaked and Allen jumped, moving closer to him. Even Kyle stepped away from the door, shooting Matt a glare that made it quite clear he wasn't happy about their close arrangements.

Three men came in wearing black masks and carrying semi-automatics. Matt pressed himself back against the cement. This wasn't looking good.

"We don't need the military brat and he could prove troublesome. We should get rid of him."

Allen drew in a sharp breath, catching Matt's hand.

"The bigwigs might pay more to get all three of them back unharmed."

"Still, he could cause trouble…"

One of them stepped forward, grabbing Matt's arm and pulling him forward. Al yelped in protest but Matt was already ahead of them. He swung his fist forward, knocking the one holding him back. The other two seemed to forget they had guns and rushed forward. He dropped low and rammed one with his shoulder, kicking the second in the stomach.

The sound of a gunshot and fire exploded in his thigh. He dropped to one knee and glared at the fourth man silhouetted in the doorway, holding a handgun.

"I told you three to leave the prisoners alone." He spoke clearly while the other three had far rougher accents. "Now get out and lock the door."

The three scurried out, one pausing to kick him before running out. The door slammed shut and locked, the light fading with it.

"Matt!" Allen cried, running to his side.

Matt opened his hands, blood leaking through his fingers. "Bullet didn't catch so I'll be all right."

"That was stupid," Kyle sneered. "What were you trying to do, be a hero?"

"Shut UP, Kyle!"

* * *

Elizabeth had made a fantastic grilled chicken alfredo for lunch and Neal distracted himself by helping her clean up. But he couldn't help himself, glancing back at his phone on the table and couple minutes or so. He figured either Peter or Moz would've called him by now.

"Don't worry, Neal, Peter will find him." El reassured him, wrapping her arms around his waist as he leaned back against the counter. He sighed in the ensuing silence.

"I can't just sit here and wait, El," Neal mourned. "I could be helping. I can see things Peter doesn't, put things together in ways he doesn't think of…"

"Neal," El sighed, leaning back and sliding her arms around his neck. "You have to trust him. He's been doing this a very long time and he's good at it. He can find three kids lost in New York City."

"I know," Neal sighed. "I just can't stop thinking about it."

"Well then," El grinned. "Allow me to distract you."

She tangled her fingers in his hair, bringing him down to her lips. The contrast to Peter was more pronounced here in her own kitchen. Neal was softer, smoother, less calloused and worn but…

"Ok, this is…"

"…awkward," she finished for him. "Maybe we should…"

"…wait for Peter?" Neal finished with a smile. El laughed and patted his chest.

"You get the wine?"

"You get the laptop."

A moment later they were curled up on the couch, a bottle of wine between them, while Neal Googled his brother.

"So that's your brother, huh?"

"Private First Class Matthew Richards."

"He's cute," El noted. "He's like…an angrier version of you."

"Trust me, he's more of a pacifist than he appears to be. In this picture he's got the standard military issue scowl on. I can't believe he's a Marine."

El tilted her head at the pictures coming up. "He really does look like you."

"We both take after Mom." Neal explained. "All except for the eyes. We both got our father's blue eyes."

El looked up at him sadly. "That's why you always flinch when someone says how pretty your eyes are."

"Growing up…Mom never said a cross word about him. I think she wanted us to believe he was good even though he was gone. Then one day he calls me from prison. All that time, I thought he was dead but he was in prison, serving a four year sentence for forgery."

El gasped softly and Neal nodded. "I got into this life because I wanted to see what made him abandon his family, what was so thrilling that it made him want more…I guess I found out. Maybe I'm just like him."

"You're not. You're you."El said firmly.

"I abandoned my family. I went to prison. I'm a con artist, just like he was."

El took the laptop from him and set it on the coffee table, pulling him into her arms.

"Maybe you were all those things, once, but now you're an FBI consultant. You've saved countless lives and restored countless objects to their rightful owners. You've made the right decision time and time again. You're a good person, Neal."

Neal smiled, wrapping his arms around her. "Maybe."

She kissed his forehead, laying her head against his.

* * *

Peter sat at his desk, trying to sort together the few clues they had. A ransom notice had come in just less than an hour ago, demanding $10 million by midnight or the boys would 'drown in their sorrows.' He knew he should probably call Neal but after checking the database for his anklet and seeing he was with El, he decided not to.

His phone rang and he picked it up before it finished its first shrill fanfare.

"Burke,"

" _These crooks are such amateurs. They're actually bragging about this."_

"Mozzie? How did you get this number?"

Mozzie huffed on the other end.  _"Never mind that. They're being held in a drainage cistern by the East Docks. But you better get Neal, you're going to need him."_

The line went dead and Peter sighed, dialing his own home phone number.

"Hell-o?" Neal slurred when he answered. 'Ain't No River High Enough' was playing loudly in the background and he could hear El singing along…rather badly.

"Neal, have you been drinking?"

"Only half a glass…or two…"

"Sober up. I'm sending Diana to get you."


	5. Recovery

He could tell it was late in the afternoon because the light was starting to dim. With it went what little heat they had. Allen had salvaged his shirt to make a bandage for Matt's leg and now the two were curled up under Matt's jacket. Even so, Matt could feel Allen shivering and he wrapped his arms tighter around him.

Across the cistern, Kyle sat by himself, curled up into a tight ball. Matt watched him over Allen's head; he was shivering almost nonstop. He closed his eyes, rubbing Allen's back, before coming to his decision.

Allen lifted his head as Matt shifted, pulling one arm out from under the jacket and offering Kyle a hand.

"Kyle,"

Kyle looked up and then shook his head. "No way, fag,"

Matt grimaced but kept his arm out. "Kyle, you're going to freeze to death before help comes if you don't get over here."

Kyle bit his lip, obviously weighing the idea of death over drawing closer to the couple. Matt kept his arm out and Allen even lifted his head.

"Come on, Kyle. We're not contagious."

He caved in, slowly crawling over. "If anyone pops a boner, I'm out."

"No one wants your scrawny ass," Allen murmured, shifting to make room for Kyle as he slid in under Matt's arm. Allen lifted the jacket, letting Kyle under as well. At first Kyle was distant then began nudging his way closer to them both.

"It should be illegal for you two to be so warm," He complained, nestled against Matt's side.

Matt didn't say a word when Kyle hit his injured leg, just let his head fall back against the cement, staring upward then closing his eyes. Someone had to come soon. Someone.

Anyone.

_Hey George, watch this!_

_He turned an awkward attempt at a cartwheel but messed up the ending and fell, twisting his ankle and landing on his butt. He struggled not to cry but his older brother saw the pain in his eyes anyway._

" _Matt!"_

_He felt his brother's strong arms lift him up and carry him onto the porch, quietly looking at his ankle, prodding it with soft, gentle fingers._

" _Well, I don't think it's broken but the next time you try a cartwheel, do it like this."_

_George walked out into the yard and spun on the spot before performing a perfect cartwheel. Matt laughed and clapped. His brother had always been a bit more nimble than he was._

Then again, when he was twelve and had gone to a friend's birthday party. One of the boys had snuck out some of his parents' liquor. Matt had a few drinks before he was horribly sick. The other boys made fun of him and he ended up tearfully calling his brother. George had shown up ten minutes later.

" _Matt, what happened?"_

_As Matt tearfully explained, George just rubbed his back and got him some water from inside._

" _I didn't want to call Mom. She's going to be so mad,"_

" _Yeah, probably," George laughed._

" _Are you mad at me?"_

_George shook his head. "I'm your brother. No matter what, I'll always come for you."_

Matt opened his eyes. He'd always refused to believe the final police report that his brother, George Richards, had no doubt died when the ambulance he stole careened off the road and hit a tree. His mother refused to believe it. Their sister refused to believe it. George had to be out there, somewhere. And if he was out there…he would come for him. He said he always would and George never lied.

_I'm in trouble again, brother. Are you coming for me?_

* * *

Diana and Neal arrived promptly as could only be expected. Neal was dressed in black from head to toe, no doubt anticipating that his special area of expertise would soon be in need.

In the conference room, Liam Frank and Mayor Bloomberg were pacing as Hughes tried to explain to them the situation.

"Peter, what's going on?" Neal asked as they came side to side.

"Mozzie called me, he says the boys are in a drainage cistern at the East Docks,"

"That makes sense," Neal breathed. "Easy to guard and if we don't do as they say, they open the pipes and flood the cistern. Villianesque."

"Yeah, and the bureaucrats don't trust our information." Peter sighed.

"Moz wouldn't give us information he wasn't sure about."

"I know that. You know that. They aren't willing to trust a source we won't disclose."

"Then lie!"

"Neal, I'm a federal agent. I don't lie."

"I don't know, I've seen you do a really good job of it."

"Neal,"

Neal sighed and swept past Peter into the conference room, Peter close on his tail.

"Gentlemen,"

"Neal!" Peter hissed but Neal ignored him.

"Who're you?" The man he assumed was Liam Frank snapped.

"I'm Neal Caffrey, Criminal Consultant for the White Collar Crime Unit."

"Where have you been today then?"

Neal's smile never wavered. "Doing my job, using criminal contacts to gain valuable information into the location of your sons. It was I who provided the information that Agent Peter Burke is acting on."

Both men glared at him as if he were less than the dirt on their shoes.

"How do we know you're not working with the men who took Allen?" Liam growled.

"Matthew Richards is Caffrey's brother," Hughes replied. "Think about that next time you worry about his motives. Caffrey, move."

Hughes walked out with Neal, leaving the two politicians to stew.

"Did you just lie to the mayor?"

"Not exactly, Peter's source is a friend of mine I asked to look into the case so the source can be traced back to me."

Hughes shook his head. "Burke, Caffrey, let's move on this. Now. We're losing daylight and I don't want to think about those boys stuck in their after dark."

"Sir,"

Just then, Jones jogged up. "Peter, the Richards are here."

Neal and Peter both turned and Neal let out a little gasp. Neal's mother wasn't hard to pick out from the crowd of people running back and forth between the desks. Long, wavy black hair and piercing steel grey eyes, she stood with her arms folded and one hip cocked to the side.

Neal was down the stairs first, walking quickly to her and he hugged her tightly.

"Mom, I'm really really sorry for everything but we know where Matt is. We're going after him right now."

When they parted, her eyes were bright. "George, I always knew you were alive. I never believed…"

She laid her hand on his cheek then sighed. "Go get him."

Peter laid a hand on Neal's arm and Neal nodded, following him quickly. Neal's mother watched them go fondly.

* * *

Two men were in a radio tower not far from the East Docks. One was wearing a crisp silver and white-striped suit and watching the Docks through a pair of binoculars. The other was sitting on the window sill, dressed in a dark green jacket, torn jeans, and smoking a cigarette.

"The FBI is here,"

"As expected," the one smoking murmured.

"What do you want to do?"

He pulled a long drag off his cigarette before dropping it to the floor, crushing it beneath his boot. He ran a hand through his shaggy dirty blond hair.

"Sir?"

"Fill the cistern."

* * *

Matt jerked as he heard a sound at the door, opening his eyes. There was the sound of a padlock clicking into place.

"All clear!"

"Is…is someone here?" Kyle asked sleepily.

Matt shook his head. "No. This isn't good."

A rushing sound began to fill the area, reverberating off the concrete walls.

"Matt…" Allen murmured apprehensively as they got to their feet. "What's going on?"

The pipe above suddenly clicked and ice cold water gushed down on them, roaring into the cistern. It was up to their ankles in seconds and still rising.

"They're going to drown us!" Kyle screamed.

* * *

They pulled up about a hundred yards from the East Docks. Neal and Peter got out of the car, meeting Jones at the SWAT van.

"We have to assume they know we're coming so let's move fast. Jones."

"You got it, boss."

The SWAT closed in on the docks. Neal, Peter, and Diana sat waiting for the all clear or for the sound of gunshots.

"Area secure. There's no one here, boss."

Neal bit his lip and Peter motioned for everyone to move. Inside the dark maintenance shaft, the curved walls of the cisterns stood out sharply. Neal ran ahead into the darkness.

"Okay, we'll have to search each one individually."

"No need!" Neal called back and Peter and Diana ran to his side. "I'm pretty sure the one with the padlock on it is the one."

He pounded on the door. "Matt, can you hear me!"

There was no answer and Neal knelt down in front of the lock.

"Can you pick it?"

"Wait…" Neal leaned forward, pressing his ear to the steel. "Water…they're filling it!"

"Get this door open now!" Peter called over his shoulder.

"No!" Neal cried. "The water's too high already. It's above the door. If we open it now…"

"It'll drown us all." Peter grimaced.

"There should be a maintenance shaft at the top," Diana supplied and they all ran out towards the surface.

* * *

Treading water, Matt was trying to keep the other two from panicking.

"Matt!" Allen cried. "I think I just heard someone call your name!"

Matt nodded. "They're coming for us, we just have to hold on!"

Kyle was clinging to the wall, shivering. Matt spun in place, blinking water out of his eyes.

"I'm going down. Allen, stay close to Kyle."

Kyle, for once, didn't protest when Allen swam to his side. Matt dove to the bottom, swimming down to the door, at first beating on it to let whoever was out there know they were there then trying to turn the wheel to open it. He swam back up for a breath then back down.

* * *

"Which one is it?"

"It was Cistern 4!" Neal called, running towards the next shaft, glancing at the number before running on. He slid to a stop next to the one with a spray-painted black four on the side.

"There's a padlock on this one too!"

"Caffrey, move!"

Neal ducked to the side as Diana pulled out her gun. It took two shots to get the lock off. Neal and Diana pulled the top off as Jones and Peter ran over.

"There's a ladder." Neal stated before sliding a leg over the edge of the shaft, putting one foot on the ladder and lowering his weight onto it.

It promptly snapped.

"Neal!" Peter cried.

Neal barely caught himself on the edge of the cistern and Diana and Peter pulled him back out.

Allen and Kyle flinched at the grating sound of metal against stone and a piece of the rusted ladder splashed into the water nearby.

"Is somebody up there!" Allen cried.

"Help!" Kyle echoed.

"Hang on, we're coming!" Diana called and Neal looked around, perched on the edge of the shaft.

"Jones, do you have any rope?"

"Neal, what are you thinking?" Peter asked, pacing.

"Lower me down into the cistern. It can't be more than half full so I'll bring the rope down to the boys and you pull them out."

"Here," Jones ran back up, carrying a coil of rope. "It's about 60 feet so it'll only go about halfway down."

"Perfect," Neal replied, taking it from him. He quickly looped a length around the nearby pipes and tied it off.

"Jones, see if you can get them to cut the water off!"

"On it, boss."

Neal slid back over the edge of the shaft, dropping the rope down. He paused, grinning.

"Peter, remember what I said earlier? About this being villain-esque? And now I'm about to rappel down into the darkness under risk of drowning?"

"Yeah, what about it?" Peter asked.

"Guess I really am James Bonds now."

"Neal, focus!" Peter commanded.

Neal shrugged, humming the Bond theme as he began to climb down the rope. Silence fell on the group as they waited. Peter shook his head.

"Hey, I see someone!" Kyle cried.

Neal smiled as he could just see two of the boys kidnapped, huddling against the wall. Only two. The rope stopped about seven feet above them. Apparently he'd used too much in the anchoring. Neal lowered himself down until he was just hanging onto the end of the rope by his hands.

"Neal?" He heard Peter call.

"I'm okay!" he called back up then let go of the rope, dropping into the freezing water.

"Damn!" he yelped, surfacing. He quickly swam over to the other two. "Where's Matt?"

"He swam down to the door. He just came back up a minute ago then went back down."

Neal nodded. "Wait for the water to rise. When you can reach the rope, call up and they'll pull you up. I'm going down for Matt."

Allen nodded and he and Kyle swam to the center, just beneath the rope. Neal took a deep breath and dove.

It didn't take long for the rising water to reach the rope and Allen grabbed it.

"Kyle, you go first."

Kyle looked at him in surprise for a moment before shaking his head, hauling himself out of the water.

"I'm ready!"

Matt put all his strength into trying to turn the wheel, not even sure why he was doing it now. He couldn't breathe, he could barely see. But he had to save Allen and Kyle. He had to do something.

A hand on his shoulder and he turned to see his brother, George. His eyes grew wide in surprise and he reached out to him. George wrapped a hand around his head, pulling him in and kissing him, pushing air into his starving lungs. Then George wrapped an arm around his chest and pushed off, both of them rising quickly.

Matt clung to his brother for as long as he could, his vision blurring weakly. He gave his brother's arm a squeeze before he passed out.

Peter scanned the water furiously. Both boys were safe now, being ferried off to the waiting ambulance. Where was Neal?

Neal pushed himself, thankful for all the time he'd spent swimming at the gym. How many feet had it been now? 30? 40? More? His arms and legs burned, his lungs burned, but he had to keep pushing, had to keep moving.

The mantra he'd lived his life by for eleven years echoed in his head. Live. Move. Run. Don't let it catch up.

He wasn't Neal George Caffrey. He was George Alexander Richards. He had a past he'd tried desperately to leave behind and it had finally caught back up with him. The panic raged against the door in the back of his mind where he kept it penned. He focused on the movements of his arm, the other holding tight to Matt.

Live. Move. Swim. Stroke.

His vision was blurring now and he pushed the last of his air out, fighting the urge to try and breathe in. It was agony.

Live. Swim. Stroke.

Stroke.

Stroke.

He wasn't going to make it. The water was too high, the surface too far away. He had to breathe, he had to but if he did, he'd drown. Live.

Push. Move. Stroke.

Suddenly, he broke the surface and his lungs opened of their own accord, sweet air filling them until it ached. He coughed violently, the muscles seizing as they had been frozen too long, spasming, drawing in air of their own volition. Dizzily, Neal swam to the rope. He blearily heard someone call his name as he wrapped the rope around his brother's chest and then his arm. He slid his arms under his brother's and grasped the rope, nodding, hoping they could see. He felt the rope tighten and let his head loll against Matt's.

Hold on tight. Don't let go.

Hands were pulling him out of the shaft and pulling Matt from his arms.

" _He's not breathing!"_

" _Get the EMT!"_

"Matt…" he coughed. Everything sounded far away, like he was still underwater.

The light was bright and it was fading. He saw Peter's face, hovering above him, saw him speak his name.

" _Neal, hold on!"_

The light faded and all he saw was darkness.


	6. The Past Repeats Itself

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep._

The regular beeping that kept pace with his heartbeat, the steady drip of IV fluids, the clear, slightly acrid taste of oxygen as he breathed in…it was all too familiar. He remembered this, he'd been here before. Floating in a morphine haze that disconnected him from the agony his body had been subjected to, somehow making him more aware that he was alive rather than less.

_The smell of blood was all around him. If he opened his eyes, he'd see it pooling on the floor just under his head. He could feel the cool metal of the gun barrel against his cheek; it was so welcoming._

" _Take it, George. Take it and I'll make the pain go away."_

Elizabeth squeezed Neal's hand as he shivered, his eyes tightly shut.

"Is he okay?" Mozzie asked from across the room.

"Bad dreams," Elizabeth answered but Mozzie shook his head.

"No, those look more like bad memories."

Peter stood at the end of the hall, watching Bella Richards pace back and forth between her sons' rooms, never entering either. Twice now she had almost entered Neal's room before thinking better of it and walking back towards Matt's room.

Neal was going to be fine. He kept telling himself that and despite being worried to death over the man and despite longing just to see his face and hear his voice, Peter couldn't make himself walk in that door. Who was the man laying on the bed? Was it still his Neal? Or was it this George person? Would Neal change now that his past was laid bare on the table before them, ready to be opened and examined at will?

What else was Neal keeping from him?

He knew it shouldn't bug him but the more he tried not to think about it, the more it wormed its way through his heart. Neal was still lying to him, after all this time. Even if Neal told him everything, who could say it was really  _everything?_  How could he ever really trust him?

* * *

" _Take it, Georgie. There's a good lad."_

_He struggled to his feet, fighting the urge to cry from the pain. He saw the weeping man before him, he didn't even know who he was. What was this man's life to him if it kept the pain away?_

" _Go ahead, Georgie. It's easy."_

_He started to raise the gun. It hurt so much._

" _I…I can't. I can't. I'm not…a murderer."_

_The man frowned at him, dusky blond hair falling over his eyes. The man he'd trusted with so much._

" _I'm sorry, Georgie."_

_The pain was back. The agony, it was welded to every nerve ending and he screamed against his oppressors._

The echo of a gunshot seared across his mind.

"NO!" Neal shouted, surging up from his bed. He was caught, tied up again, helpless. They were going to hurt him again, the pain…it was coming. He clawed at the tubes and wires, thrashing.

"Neal!" Elizabeth shouted, trying to hold him down. Mozzie ran to the door.

"Peter!"

Peter had already started running at the shout and just beat the nurse there. He quickly got behind Neal, wrapping his arms around the man's chest and pinning his arms to his sides, holding him tightly to his chest.

"Neal, it's okay. It's Peter, I'm here, it's okay,"

He repeated the mantra, over and over, and slowly Neal stopped fighting him though he didn't stop shaking. He could feel how hard Neal's heart was pounding in his chest. The nurse pulled out a vial and moved to Neal's IV.

"It'll just help him calm down, it won't knock him out," she answered his inquisitive gaze and Peter nodded.

Glancing down, he took in Neal's flushed face, his wide, panic-filled eyes. Neal was clinging to him and suddenly screwed his eyes shut, his shivering doubled.

"I can't, Peter. I can't, please don't make me, I can't." he murmured, shaking his head.

"It's okay, you don't have to," Peter assured him, smoothing his hair, not knowing to what he was agreeing. At this, Neal relaxed a little more and under the influence of the nurse's calming agent, he finally seemed to regain some sense of normalcy.

"George?"

Neal jerked in response to the sound of his old name, the sudden reminder sending him shivering again. But a familiar scent chased everything away and he looked up into his mother's storm gray eyes. She cupped his face in her hands.

"Look at that," she whispered softly. Her voice flowed over him like rain. "I found you after all these years, safe and sound."

For a moment, there was a peaceful silence.

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING!"

Neal flinched back against Peter, hiding under his arm. Peter blinked in surprise, drawing his arms tighter around the younger man.

"Eleven years! ELEVEN YEARS and not a word from you! Do you have any idea what that did to Matt? To Lily? To ME! We've been worried sick over you! And then your records disappear like you were never born and they're trying to tell me I'm making it all up! I AM GOING TO STRANGLE YOU!"

Everyone was looking away, almost as if she were yelling at them, as if they had been helping his lie, caught in his fault. Peter, however, glared at her over Neal's head, his body coiling protectively around Neal.

"It wasn't my fault!" Neal cried out suddenly, pushing away from Peter. "I had to leave! If I didn't, he…he might've…"

"Who?" Bella demanded, her eyes flashing but Neal fell silent, shaking his head.

"More secrets, George? I hardly knew who you were the last year before you disappeared and you still won't tell me what happened."

Neal looked down, his eyes dark and angry.

"All right, that's enough excitement." The nurse commanded. "I want everyone out. This is my patient and he needs his rest."

Bella scowled but turned on her heel, marching out. Elizabeth and Mozzie slowly followed suit. Peter stood slowly, slipping from behind Neal, letting his hand linger on Neal's shoulder. He sighed before walking away.

"Peter," Neal whispered and Peter turned back. "Is Matt okay?"

Peter nodded. "Yes, he's going to be fine."

A look of relief passed over Neal and he nodded. "That's good."

"Out," The nurse laid a hand on Peter's arm, tugging him towards the door. Peter looked back at Neal sadly but Neal didn't even lift his head to watch him go.

Alone, Neal let himself fall back against the bed, staring up at the too-white ceiling. The last time he'd been in a hospital, he'd nearly died. Now…it was Neal Caffrey who had to die. Tears sprang to his eyes at the thought. He didn't want to leave. He loved this life and all its promise, all its potential. He could be Neal Caffrey for the rest of his life.

He wanted what Elizabeth had explained to him when he asked her what Peter wanted from him. It both frightened him and amazed him that not just one person but two could love him, that Peter wanted him and Elizabeth, together, as a family. He wanted that, more than he could ever admit and the threat of losing it now was agony boiling in his chest and closing his throat until he could barely breathe.

But if he stayed Neal Caffrey and lived this beautiful life…it wouldn't be for very long.

_A splash of blood…artificial light glinting off the barrel hovering just below his eye…_

Neal choked back a sob as the terror threatened to overwhelm him, gripping the sheets with white knuckles.

* * *

Peter ran after Neal's mother, catching her. "Ms. Richards,"

"Agent Burke," She snapped, turning to face him. She barely reached his shoulder but she was a formidable woman. "George said he worked for the FBI but I saw that anklet. He may be helping you but he's your prisoner isn't he?"

Peter sighed and nodded. "Four of those years you were missing him were spent in jail for bond forgery."

Tears sprang to her eyes and he continued. "For three years before that, I chased him. Just less than four years ago, he escaped prison and I caught him again. We agreed that he would work for the FBI as a consultant for the remainder of his new four year sentence which will be ending in approximately six months."

"And the name Neal Caffrey?"

Peter shook his head. "Until yesterday, I wasn't aware it wasn't his real name."

She opened her mouth to speak but just then, a young girl with blondish-brown hair came out of Matt's room.

"Mom, Matt's awake,"

Bella leveled a glare at Peter before following her daughter into Matt's room. The door closed after her and Peter stood in the hallway alone until Elizabeth rejoined him.

"Peter," she said softly. "What's wrong?"

Peter sighed, deflating under his wife's touch. "He lied to me again, El. I thought we were past all that after the Kellar business."

"He didn't lie, Peter, he just…"

"…didn't tell me the truth." Peter finished. "I wish you both would stop making that distinction."

"I'm sure whatever Neal has to hide in his past, he has good reason for it. He's still the same man he was yesterday and the day before, the  _night_  before…"

Peter shook his head. "I don't know if he is, El. I've got a really bad feeling about this."

She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face into his chest, and said nothing.

* * *

Neal was released from the hospital later that day and he said nothing to anyone on the way out. Peter didn't even get a chance to speak with him again before Hughes called him, asking him to come by the Bureau and help wrap up the situation. He only got to see as they were both leaving. Their eyes met for only a second and suddenly, in that moment, Peter felt all his distrust and misgivings melt away.

The look Neal was giving him was the same as when he sat in the prison after Fowler framed him, telling Peter that he had not let him down. But it was deeper this time, as if Neal already knew about how he felt and that it didn' t matter anymore. He suddenly had the urge to run to Neal's side, to take him in his arms and hold him tightly and promise that it didn't matter what his name was, only that they were together.

Then Neal looked away, getting into the car with June and they drove away.

Peter didn't know it would be one of the last times he saw Neal Caffrey.

* * *

"'Neal George Caffrey is a well known con artist convicted of bond forgery but suspected in several other incidents including art theft'…it goes on to list a bunch of things he's suspected of and that he's now in the custody of the FBI serving out his sentence as a consultant. Pretty good numbers too, apparently he's good at solving crimes as well as perpetuating them."

Bella sighed, her eyes flicking to her youngest son as he lay resting on the hospital bed. "You're rather quiet."

Matt shook his head. "You both keep blaming George for running away. You didn't see him in that hospital. You didn't see what they did to him…"

"That still doesn't explain why he left and became a thief. He could've done anything, gone anywhere, but instead, he became a thief." Lily Richards stated calmly. "A good one, no doubt, but still."

"And the reason we still don't know what happened to George is because the police sealed the files and won't let us look at them. And George won't talk about it. This is ridiculous." Bella snapped.

"George nearly died." Matt snapped. "And he nearly died again today trying to save my ass. So if either of you has one more thing to say, go ahead. But George won't be the only one you'll be missing in the morning."

They both fell silent, Lily sharing a long look with her mother.

* * *

When Peter returned to the Bureau, there was someone waiting for him at his desk. The man was not sitting; with the small office chairs it would've no doubt been uncomfortable. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, thick with muscle over his entire body. He wore a tan trench coat over a simple suit and held a black fedora in his hands.

Peter smiled as he stepped in, shaking his head. "You must be Neal's stepfather."

The man looked confused for a moment then nodded. "Yes, I'm Paul Garsen, Bella's husband and stepfather to the boys."

"What can I do for you?"

"You are Agent Peter Burke?"

"Yes."

"I wanted to thank you."

Peter blinked in surprise. "Thank me?"

"For watching over George these past few years. George and Matt had a tough time after learning about their father and this…"

He shook his head. "I just wanted to thank you before Bella tears into you. Just remember, she yells because she cares."

He twisted the hat through his fears before placing it delicately over his messy black hair, a feat Peter had watched Neal do a thousand times.

"Have a good day, Agent Burke."

* * *

"Neal?"

Neal looked up from the chess board he'd been playing and sighed, swirling the wine in its glass.

"How's the game going?" June asked warmly, carrying a plate from the kitchen downstairs.

"I'm losing," Neal muttered.

She frowned as he poured the last of the nearby bottle into his glass.

"Don't you think you're drinking a little much for just having gotten home from the hospital?"

Neal laughed lightly. "Probably."

June set the plate down on the counter and sat down opposite him, looking at the chess board.

"You know I'm leaving soon."

June nodded. "I'll be here when you get back."

Neal shook his head. "I'm not talking about in six months and I'm not talking about a vacation. I have to leave. I don't know if I'll  _be_  back."

June just shrugged. "Like I said, I'll be here."

She stood and kissed his forehead before retiring back downstairs.


	7. Say What You Need to Say

Lily Marie Richards was a tall young woman, barely 22 years old, and far younger than her two older brothers, 30 and 29. Though she only shared a single parent with them both, she was far more like them than would have been expected. She carried a wiry strength in her petite form and as she unbuttoned her blouse to stand before her brother in only a black sports bra and black shorts, she revealed sharp muscles belied by her feminity.

It had been just over a week since the ordeal with Kyle Bloomberg and Allen Frank that Matt had gotten tied up in and he'd been released just over a day ago. True to his word, the gunshot wound had barely slowed him down and he was eager to prove he hadn't lost an inch on his sister.

Facing her across the grassy field they'd chosen in Central Park, Matt pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to one side. He leaned on his wounded leg, testing its strength, before turning to one side.

"I'm not going to go easy on you, Matt," Lily called, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Matt grinned, drawing his arms up to guard.

At the edge of the field, Bella stood with her arms folded over her chest, her legs straight, feet shoulder-width apart. She stood strong and her husband, Paul, stood just behind her. Off to one side, Neal stood casually with his hands in his pockets, black fedora cocked to one side. A few feet away, Peter and El sat on a picnic blanket in the warm sunlight. It was a beautiful day, despite the tension.

Lily shouted as she attacked and Matt moved fluidly to meet her. They moved in a deadly dance around one another and Peter recognized in them the same grace he saw in Neal.

"I thought you said you didn't have combat training,"

"I don't," Neal answered automatically.

Bella laughed. "I enrolled Lily and Matt in martial arts after George disappeared. I wanted them to be able to defend themselves."

Neal watched them sadly. He found himself wondering more and more often what life had would have been like had he stayed with his family. Would he be out there with them?

No, he shook his head. He was the odd man out. Lily and Matt balanced each other; this was the way it should be. It was just like Peter and Elizabeth, they suited one another perfectly. What was he thinking to have believed he could interfere without disrupting their union? His thoughts traced themselves back to that one perfect night where he had everything he wanted. He wasn't surprised that his world had fallen apart once again. He'd done too much wrong to have what he wanted.

Peter turned his attention back to Neal. The man had hardly said more than five words to him in the past week. Everything he longed to ask him was building up inside him, boiling, and it hurt. For one harsh moment, they had flown into the sun and now they were burning.

For the past week, Neal hadn't been Neal. Instead of laughing and making jokes with himself and Diana, he'd been quiet. When Peter asked him to do something useless, he just sighed and did it. They'd only had a couple of cases and Neal had only provided input when asked. It was as if he no longer cared. And with him, somehow, the life felt like it was draining out of the office.

El frowned as she went to the cooler for more ice. "Hm, I better get more ice. I saw a vendor back there a bit."

"I'll get it," Neal offered with a simple smile.

"Ok," Elizabeth agreed in surprise.

As Neal headed back towards the path, Peter watched him. Just a single week ago, they'd been close, far closer than friends, maybe closer than brothers. Just a week ago, he'd told Neal how he felt and Neal had responded as he had only imagined he would. For one moment, he believed he could have everything he wanted.

Now El sat next to him and he smiled at her. How could he have been so foolish? He was already the luckiest man in the world. What more could he ask for?

"Where's George going?" Lily asked as they rejoined the group. She was sporting a new bruise on one shoulder and Matt was rubbing his cheek.

"He's going to get some more ice. Why don't we sort out the food?" Paul offered quietly.

"Ooo, yes, let's." Elizabeth got to her feet again to help. As she moved, Peter caught sight of Bella as she watched her eldest walking away. He got up and went to her side while the others were distracted.

"Something's bothering you."

"George hasn't once acted happy to see his family again." Bella said softly. "He's more…resigned. Like he's only here because he has to be."

"I've noticed it at work too. He's not acting at all like he used to."

Bella frowned, a thin furrow appearing between her eyebrows.

"Agent Burke," She said softly, glancing to her children before back at him. "He's acting like he did the last time…before it happened. Before he disappeared."

Peter's eyes widened in surprise and in apprehension.  _Is Neal going to run?_

After lunch, everyone packed up to go their respective directions. He and Neal were heading back to the bureau. Neal gave obligatory hugs to his mother and stepfather, only offering smiles for his younger siblings.

"When are you coming home?" Lily asked quietly.

"Well, I have to stay in New York until I get my anklet off in a few months so maybe then?" Neal responded amiably. For a moment, he had a fraction of his old happiness.

"We'll be seeing each other then," Matt said happily.

"Matt's moving here to New York." Bella responded to Neal's look of surprise. "Says it has something to do with a job offer but I'm not buying it."

"I think it has something to do with a girl," Lily laughed.

Neal and Matt exchanged a long look before Neal shrugged. "I think it has something to do with a boy,"

"And George wins!" Matt chuckled half-heartedly.

Lily and Bella both blinked for a moment and then Lily lowered her gaze, her fists tight at her sides.

"When exactly were you going to tell me you were gay?" She snapped at her brother.

Matt shrugged helplessly. "I told George."

"That was eleven years ago! I could've been supporting you all this time and you think you have to sneak off to see your boyfriend! What the hell, Matt?"

Bella just shook her head, smiling. "Lily, hush. Let your brother be."

"You knew, didn't you?" Matt asked softly and their mother just smiled.

"I always knew. Just like I knew George was getting into things he shouldn't and Lily would rather beat someone with a violin than play one. I know my babies."

"Was it Allen or Kyle?" Neal asked quietly.

Matt laughed. "Allen, no contest. Kyle's a little annoying pipsqueak who walked into the wrong club and took it out on me and Allen."

"So that's what happened."

"Neal and I need to be going," Peter interrupted and everyone hurried to finish their good-byes. Paul clapped Neal on the shoulder.

"Don't be a stranger."

"Of course not," Neal said softly.

Elizabeth gave Peter a quick kiss and hugged Neal tightly. "Whatever you're going through," she whispered. "I'm here,"

Neal kissed her cheek. "You don't want to know."

She looked at him sadly before heading for her own car. Peter looked at Neal and Neal shrugged. In the car on the way back, it was utterly silent. When they arrived, Neal got out of the car the same way he had that day at the warehouse, as if he couldn't bear to be in it one more second. Peter hurried out and ran after him.

"Neal!"

Neal continued walking, if anything he picked up his pace. Peter ran to catch up with him, grabbing his arm and pulling him around. Neal instantly recoiled.

"What, Peter?" Neal snapped.

"What is wrong, Neal?" Peter demanded. "This past week, you've been nothing but miserable. And miserable's overstating it. Emotionless is more like it. Your family is here, happy, and glad to know you're alive."

"That isn't exactly a good thing," Neal replied sharply.

"Why not?"

"I told you there was a reason I cut who I was off from who I am. If he finds me…"

"If who finds you, Neal? Who?"

Neal gritted his teeth, looking down. Peter scowled.

"Again, Neal? After all this time, you're going to hold out on me? Keep lying to me?"

"I'm not!" Neal yelped.

"Yes you are!" Peter shouted. "You're telling me bits and pieces of the truth and letting me figure everything out for myself. You didn't tell me Neal Caffrey was your real name but you let me believe it was and that's just as bad as lying!"

"Is that all this is about is a name? I've used aliases with you for years. You've always been aware I had them. I never told you or suggested that Neal Caffrey was anything more than another alias."

Neal frowned then, taking in the look on his face as Peter tried to justify how he was feeling. "But that's not what this is about is it? It has nothing to do with my name. You're afraid that I'm not the man you love anymore."

Peter huffed, setting his hands on his hips. "You've lied about everything else. How do I know you haven't been lying about that too? You play everyone around you to your tune. How do I know I haven't just been caught up in it?"

"Peter," Neal breathed. "Peter, I am the same person I was yesterday, and the day before, and last week when you and I hid away from the world in that storage closet. And then that night…I am the  _same_  as I was then."

Peter heard the pain in his voice. He couldn't take it. "Neal, are you going to run?"

Neal blinked at the sudden accusation, stepping back. "Run? I couldn't if I wanted to. Anklet, remember? Never been skipped on."

"There's a first time for everything. Your mother said this was how you were acting last time."

"I didn't run last time by choice. I was forced to." Neal defended.

"Are you being forced to this time?"

"Peter," Neal said softly, dangerously. "Don't."

"Tell me, Neal." Peter pressed. "What are you about to do?"

Neal scowled. "Why would I tell you? You don't trust me anyway. I could be lying." He shrugged, backing away. "I think I'll go to Japan. I like sushi."

"Neal!" Peter stepped forward, catching him by the arm again. Neal spun, jerking his arm back and pushing Peter away.

"Don't touch me, Peter," Neal snapped. "Don't touch me."

Peter followed Neal inside a few minutes later. He paused by Neal's empty desk and looked around. "Diana, where's Neal?

She paused as she was passing by then pointed up with the file she held. "Talking to Hughes."

"Diana, do me a favor."

"Ok?"

"Stand there and tell me when Neal gets up."

He quickly walked around the desk as Diana took a place next to it, thumbing through the file and looking up at the office where Neal and Hughes were talking.

"They seem rather into their conversation, Boss,"

"Good," Peter murmured, sitting down at Caffrey's computer. He clicked and the desktop came up instantly.

"He doesn't even have it passworded?" Peter murmured.

"Does he have something to hide, Peter?"

"I don't know yet."

Peter quickly scanned through Neal's most recent internet searches and most of them included paintings, art gallery openings, recipes, wine newsletters...his inbox was full of spam e-mail invitations to gallery events and an email from Diana.

"You had Neal do a painting for your living room?"

Diana looked affronted. "Christy's redecorating and she likes original art."

Peter shook his head, going back to the computer.

"Peter, they're standing up…"

Peter sighed and closed the windows before standing, sliding past Diana and looking at the file she was holding. The charade was useless as Neal just walked right past him, taking the right turn out of the glass doors towards records.

"I wonder what Hughes was talking to him about." Diana said softly, closing the file she held.

Peter frowned, watching the door Neal had just gone through. "I wish I knew."

* * *

Nightfall came too fast, filling the city with an edge of foreboding. Neal felt the energy that usually came the night before a heist beginning to build in him. It was calming, finally finding himself at the end. Back at June's, Neal was in his closet, slowly packing up his suits. An empty wine bottle was at his feet and this time he'd skipped the glass. June had told him he could take what he liked and clothes were probably his highest priority. Dressed only in khaki slacks and a white undershirt, he paced back and forth between the racks and the single duffel bag he was taking with him, trying to decide which clothes he like most. After packing as much as he could, he grabbed the pile of clothes he'd worn in the last week and carried them out to sort for laundry. He'd leave June a clean room.

"Peter!"

He nearly dropped the clothes when he saw Peter standing in his room then walked past him to set the clothes on his bed.

"What do you want?"

"Neal," Peter said softly. "What are you about to do?"

"Laundry. You know, that process where you take clothes that are dirty and wash them so you can wear them again?"

"Neal," Peter repeated sadly. "You've changed."

"Is that my fault?" Neal whispered. He stepped closer to Peter. "I saw the way you looked at me when you found out who I was…or rather, who I wasn't. You were disgusted. Nothing had changed then, only my name, but you were still disgusted, as if you didn't want me near you anymore. Do you know why I hesitated to return your feelings? Because I was afraid of losing your friendship, of losing what we had."

"Neal, if you're going to do something stupid…"

Neal laughed. "You are not even listening to me. If I did do something stupid, if I did run, what would you do about it? You're not trying very hard to stop whatever it is you think I'm doing now. If you were, you'd have me locked down at the Bureau, 24-hour surveillance. You'd have Jones on my tail constantly. But you haven't done any of that. You only got on my computer for five minutes."

"You saw…"

"I'm not stupid, Peter. Admit that you want me gone. You want to forget that one moment we had because you're afraid it didn't mean anything and I'm just a blatant reminder."

"That's not true…"

"Oh, is that so?"

He turned and walked around Peter, pulling a glass and a bottle of scotch from the cabinet and pouring himself a drink. Peter shook his head.

"I've never seen you drink scotch before."

"I bought it as a present for you." Neal turned the glass up, draining it. "Not exactly what I had in mind but this works too."

"Neal,"

Neal turned around, closing the space between them as he crushed his lips against Peter's. Peter grunted in surprise but Neal didn't give him time to think. He pressed his body against Peter's, pushing him back against the table, and slid a hand between them while the other worked on Peter's jacket.

"Neal, wait," Peter gasped and Neal shook his head.

"You waited eight years," Neal protested. "And according to your instincts, you're about to lose me again."

Peter pulled Neal away, staring at him in surprise. Neal just looked back at him expectantly. Their lips crashed together and Peter picked him up by his hips, turning to set him on the table, clearing it with one swipe of his arm, an empty wine bottle crashing to the floor along with Moz and Neal's most recent chess game. Neal wrapped his legs around Peter's waist, pulling his jacket off his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor.

Later, Peter found himself watching Neal trace circles on his stomach with his fingertips. He ran his fingers through Neal's hair as the other man's head rested on his chest. Neal glanced up at him without moving his head and closed his eyes in pleasure. Neal contented himself with listening to the sound of Peter's steady heartbeat.

"I didn't get to tell you before." Neal said softly before he shifted up onto elbows. Peter blinked, keeping his arm around Neal gently, trying to hold onto him without holding too tightly.

"Tell me what?"

"You said, you loved me."

Peter took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "I do, Neal."

Neal nodded, tracing circles on his stomach again. "I love you too, Peter. I think I always have. The idea was just so complex, I couldn't wrap my head around it long enough to realize I already had everything I was looking for."

He laughed then, shaking his head. "I can't believe this took us eight years."

"Well, we didn't talk much for four…"

Neal laughed then stretched up, placing a quick kiss on his lips. "Go to sleep, Peter,"

He started up and Peter frowned. "Where are you going?"

"Just to the bathroom,"

"I'll see you in the morning?"

Neal smiled, pulling his robe on. "It is morning, Peter,"

At exactly 1:30am, Neal's phone beeped where it lay on the counter. Neal picked it up and looked at the blank text message from an unidentified number. He then deleted it. He picked up the bottle of wine he'd bought for Mozzie and looked back at Peter, asleep on the bed. He sighed and looked around, one last time, before delicately putting on his hat and shouldering his duffel bag.

"Goodbye, Peter." He whispered.


	8. Goodbyes

_**Monday, 2:37 a.m.** _

Neal stepped out of the cab, reaching back to pay the driver before smiling across the road. There was a small diner there, open 24 hours, and it had been the site of many a plan hatched between himself and Mozzie. He walked across, glancing around for traffic, before taking a seat at the table where Mozzie sat enjoying his coffee alone.

"Do you never sleep, Moz?"

"Sleep is for lesser mortals."

Neal smiled, asking for coffee when the waitress came by. "I brought you something."

He brought out the bottle of wine and passed it over to Mozzie. It was caked with dust and it took Mozzie a moment to make out the label.

"An 1893 Chateau Lafitte…Neal…this is a farewell gift."

Neal hung his head softly. "I'm sorry, Mozzie, but I can't stay here right now. I couldn't tell you before because I didn't want you to have to lie to Elizabeth and Peter. They're good friends to have, even for people like us. But I do need one last favor."

"What is that exactly?" Mozzie asked softly, still looking at the bottle.

"Peter's going to look for me and I think you're the only person who might be able to find me when I go."

Neal spoke for a couple minutes, his voice barely audible even in the near silence of the diner. After a long pause, Mozzie nodded. He then carefully placed the bottle in his bag.

"I'm going to save this for when you get back. We'll drink it together."

Neal shook his head. "It amazes me sometimes how much you and June have in common."

They played a game of chess in nearly total silence until Mozzie finally checkmated and Neal stood, draining the last of his coffee.

"Goodbye, Mozzie."

* * *

_**4:22 a.m.** _

_She was running, gun at her side, heart pounding in her throat as she ran. If she didn't hurry, she might lose them both. Her boss, her friend…the two men she loved as father and brother…and they might lose each other._

_Turning the corner, she brought her gun up, shouting her intentions as she had been trained, so well-trained. He was running towards her. There was a bright burst of blood and he fell as she screamed his name._

Diana blinked as she pulled herself out of the nightmare, sitting up and rubbing her forehead. Christy was working night shift at the hospital and she was home alone so she slipped out of bed and poured herself a glass of water. Her cell phone was sitting on the counter and she picked it up, scrolling through her contacts for the right number. She didn't know what made her hit 'call' but soon it was ringing and then he answered.

" _Good morning, Diana,"_  Neal answered amiably.

"I had a dream," she said quickly despite her surprise that he'd answered at all.

" _About me? How sweet."_

"I had a dream that I shot you," Diana clarified quickly to counter his flirtatious tone. He didn't speak for nearly a full minute and she waited with bated breath until he did.

" _You're not psychic are you?"_

Diana couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head. "No, Neal, I'm not."

" _Then I have nothing to worry about. But if you do ever get the urge, please forewarn me."_

"Anytime, Neal,"

" _Goodbye, Diana."_

Diana hung up the phone and stretched, plugging it back into its charger and going back to bed. Neal's final words left her with no sense of foreboding.

* * *

_**5:52 a.m.** _

Elizabeth woke by herself and frowned at the empty side of the bed. Peter hadn't come home last night which wasn't like him at all. He normally would've at least called, especially if it were work-related. Well, maybe he patched things up with Neal and was with him. She decided to call Neal first. He was far more of an early riser than her husband was.

" _Good morning, El."_

"Hey Neal!" Elizabeth greeted him happily. For the first time since his brother had been kidnapped, Neal sounded like himself. "Peter didn't come home last night. Did you two patch things up?"

"… _in a manner of speaking. But yes, he's asleep…here at June's."_

Elizabeth smiled, happy her boys were happy. "Well, you tell him to call me when he wakes up. He knows better than to not call me before staying over with you."

She could hear the laughter in Neal's voice as he agreed. Things were going to be so wonderful with Neal around more often.

" _El,"_ He suddenly sounded more serious.  _"I want to thank you. You've really been a great friend and so understanding of Peter and me, helping Peter find the nerve to tell me how he feels, helping me have the strength to reciprocate…you're an amazing woman. I love you, El."_

Elizabeth blushed and drew her knees up, brushing her hair back behind her ear. "I love you too, Neal. So much."

" _I'll tell Peter to call you,"_

"Hey, do you want to do lunch again today?"

" _Today's not going to be good for me. Rain check?"_

"I'll hold you to it!"

" _Goodbye, El,"_

"Bye, Neal," Elizabeth suddenly felt unexplainably sad as she hung up the phone. She had the urge to call him back and make sure he was okay, just one more time. Shaking her head, she got out of bed and headed for the shower. It was probably nothing.

* * *

_**6:24 a.m.** _

Neal stood at his chosen coffee shop, waiting calmly in line. He had six minutes which, at the moment, felt like an eternity. When he reached the counter, he bought a large coffee and two turkey sandwiches, plain. Taking his coffee and the little brown bag they gave him, he whistled softly as he walked to the side street where a nearly emaciated chocolate Lab sat wagging her tail eagerly for every passerby.

"You're a good girl, aren't you?" he greeted her and her tail thumped a steady beat against the concrete. He sat down next to her, unwrapping the first turkey sandwich and offering it to her in pieces. She sat right next to him the whole time, never leaping for the food or trying to take more than he gave her but always waiting until it was offered. He rubbed her ears when it was gone, picking off an engorged tick from her neck and flicking it off into the street to be crushed. She whined and licked his hand so he unwrapped the second sandwich, doing the same as he did with the first.

He pulled out his cell phone, glancing at the time. 6:28 a.m. Almost time. He pulled a red reflective collar with a silver circular tag on it and slid it around the dog's neck, securing it loosely in case her skin was already raw from living on the streets. He checked the tag, making sure it had the correct address on it, then glanced at his phone again. 6:29 a.m.

Keeping a hand on her collar, Neal reached down to pull his pant leg up, revealing the anklet tracker. He pulled a small magnetic key from his pocket, looping it around his finger as he watched the time on his phone. It had to be exact; he would only have approximately 30 seconds.

In the dark of the still-waking FBI building, a single man sat at his computer, watching the monitor. On the screen was the tracking database for all of New York City. This was the key piece, the domino that would start the fall. If this failed, they would have to start all over again. He watched and just as the clock in the lower right corner of the screen changed to 6:30 a.m., the database flickered and showed the error message NO DATA RECEIVED. Somewhere else, US Marshalls would be panicking as all their watched criminals and house arrests were suddenly off leash.

The phone clicked over to 6:30 a.m. and Neal looked down quickly. As promised, the light on his anklet suddenly went off. 30 seconds. He bent, inserting the magnetic key into its slot and the anklet clicked open. He quickly removed it from his ankle and looped it through the dog's collar, locking it back. A few seconds later, the light flicked back on.

"All right, girl, it's all you now. Like I promised, just hang around here and you'll have a warm bed, food every morning and every night, and a new friend to play with. Cross my heart."

Her tail thumped happily and she licked his cheek. Neal patted her shoulder and stood, stretching. He rotated his ankle, truly free of the anklet for the first time in years. He felt far too light without it. If this all worked out, he'd never have to put it on again. He suddenly found himself rooted to the spot, afraid to keep moving, afraid to go back. Maybe he could put the anklet back on, he still had the key.

As if sensing his distress, the dog licked his hand one last time before trotting down the alley, taking his anklet with her. The spell broken, Neal turned and walked back to the main road, waving down a cab. He slid into the back seat, taking his hat off and setting it beside him.

"Where to, boss?"

"The airport, please," Neal said softly as and as the cab pulled off, he found himself fondly watching the city go by. He hoped this wouldn't be the last time he was in New York City.

* * *

_**7:47 a.m.** _

Jones arrived early, sipping his coffee and headed straight for his desk to check his e-mail. There was a notice from the US Marshalls indicating that there had been a server shutdown on their end and to make certain all tracking anklets were functioning properly. He immediately picked up his phone and called Neal.

" _Morning, Jones,"_

"Morning. What are you doing?"

Neal looked up from the croissant he was eating. He was pretty sure he'd had way too much coffee this morning but he had a 12-hour flight to catch up on his sleep. Glancing around the terminal, he shrugged.

" _I'm eating breakfast. Why?"_

"Did you have any problems with your anklet this morning?" As Jones pulled up the database, there was a 27-second interval when Neal's anklet had cut off, in sync with the server failure at the US Marshall's office. But now it was showing him just outside a coffee shop a few minutes away.

" _Um, it shocked me while I was in the shower. But that's pretty normal."_

"Well, I'll have a tech look at it when you get here. Maybe there's a loose wire or something."

" _Okay then."_

"See you later,"

" _Goodbye, Jones,"_

Jones hit 'end' then looked at his phone oddly. "That's weird."

"What's weird?" Diana asked as she set her purse on her desk, going to the coffee brewer to start the day's first pot.

"Just called Neal, there was some trouble with the database server on his anklet this morning."

"Anything wrong?"

"No, but…he said 'goodbye.' He never says 'goodbye,' it's always 'see you later' or he just hangs up."

"Jones," Diana laughed. "You're being paranoid. Have you heard from Peter?"

"Not yet. They should both be here shortly."

* * *

_**7:50am** _

Neal headed to the counter and pulled out his credit card. "Hi, I wanted to get my boarding pass for the 9:00 a.m. flight to Dubai,"

He flashed a warm grin to the blond clerk as she took his credit card. He looked around to the quiet sound of her typing. There were a few other people in the terminal, mostly those asleep from the layover and overnight flights.

"Oh, I'm sorry the 9:00 a.m. flight was overbooked," she said sadly.

"Oh no," Neal feigned concern. "I'm supposed to meet my wife there tonight. We're adopting a little girl and I have to sign the papers tomorrow."

The clerk went back to the screen. "Well, um…there's a first class opening on the 8:00 a.m. flight but you'll have to run to make it."

"Thank you so much!" Neal laid his hands over hers as she handed him his boarding pass. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

She blushed. "It's the third gate to your right, number 17."

"Thank you again!"

He half-jogged to the gate, handing the guard his boarding pass. She scanned it wordlessly then smiled. "Just go straight down the hallway and the stewardess will help you find your seat. Have a nice flight, sir."

As Neal finally took his seat, he thought back over all those he'd said good-bye to. June, Peter, Mozzie, Elizabeth, Diana, and finally Jones…he hadn't forgotten anyone. In three days, Lily and Matt would receive an anonymous donation to their college fund. In a week, his mother would receive a letter explaining why he'd had to run in the first place. And in just twelve short hours, he'd be gone from their lives without a second glance. Soon, they'd hardly remember Neal Caffrey. He only hoped that this would work and that  _he_  would follow.

He pulled out the single picture he'd taken with him. It was from the company BBQ the summer before, the single time Peter had gotten him to drink beer and he remember how Elizabeth had laughed at the face he made. He remembered Christy had been going around, getting pictures of everyone and she had caught the three of them laughing together. Immediately, she had bunched them together, Elizabeth in the middle with Neal and Peter to either side. Elizabeth had her arms around their waists and was beaming, Peter smiling behind his sunglasses, and he himself was grinning lightly for the photo.

Neal tucked the photo back into his new wallet behind his new ID and leaned his head back against the seat. He felt his stomach turn as the plane lifted off the ground and the long night without sleep finally began to catch up with him.

"Goodbye," he said softly, closing his eyes. "Neal Caffrey."


	9. Where in the World is Neal Caffrey?

Peter woke shortly before 8 o'clock and immediately went into panic mode. He had slept with Neal, again, when Neal was a) drunk, b) El was unaware of his intentions, and c) he was still sure that Neal was planning to run and was no closer to figuring out when, why, where, or stopping it. There was a plate of freshly cooked eggs and bacon on the counter along with what smelled like an Italian Roast coffee and Peter found himself wondering just how much June knew about what little of a relationship he and Neal had going here.

And if Neal wasn't planning to run, why had he left before he woke up? The last time, Neal had been right beside him. Then again, neither of them had supposed to have gone into work that day so they'd slept in.

Peter sat back down on the bed, trying to sort out what was going on. Figuring out what the hell was going on with him and Neal, if Neal was going to run, why Neal would consider running…it was giving him all a headache.

Finally, his gaze fell on a single suit wrapped in a dry cleaning bag that apparently had been laid out over the back of Neal's couch. He picked it up delicately. It was definitely too big for Neal's slim figure and as he turned it over, a card fell out the bottom of the bag. He retrieved it and saw his name delicately written on the outside in Neal's handwriting. From the seal on the envelope, it had been closed for at least a couple weeks, maybe longer. Slitting it open, he smiled as the happy face of a frog greeted him, yelping "Happy Birthday!"

He opened it and in Neal's neat handwriting, it said ' _Happy birthday, Peter! I can't express to you how much you've done for me the past few years. If it wasn't for you, I still wouldn't believe I could be anything but a criminal. Thanks for always coming after me.' XOXO Neal 'P.S. I think this suit might fit you a little better than what you're used to.'_

Peter set the card on the table and dressed carefully in the new suit. Neal was right; it fit like it was made for him. Something in the back of his head said that just maybe, it had been. He glanced at himself in the mirror and couldn't help but approve. He picked the card back and smiled. It made him want to believe Neal might stay, that Neal was telling him the truth and that he wasn't going to run. His gaze fell on the next to last line.

' _Thanks for always coming after me.'_

He picked up his cell phone and dialed Neal's number. The phone rang once, then twice. Neal usually picked up immediately after the first ring. It rang again and Peter's stomach started to sink.

' _You have reached the voicemail mailbox of_ Neal Caffrey.  _Please leave…'_

Peter hung up before it finished, scanning the apartment, looking for anything out of place. Other than the suit, there was nothing. Neal had apparently cleaned before he left, picking up the strewn chess pieces and clothes from the night before.

 _Clothes. Neal was in the closet when I got here._  Peter quickly crossed the room into Neal's closet and stopped, his heart dropping to the floor.

The entire closet was empty. Every rack, every drawer, everything had been removed. Peter ran a hand over his face, picking up his phone again and calling Jones.

"Jones, where's Neal?"

" _Uh, I called him about ten minutes ago and he was at a coffee shop down the street getting breakfast. Have him there on the database too."_

"Call him back. I'm on my way."

Peter hung up, jogging down the stairs, having forgotten completely he was wearing the new suit Neal had bought for his birthday.

Jones hung up and called Neal again but this time the call went straight to voicemail. "Ok, today is full of weirdness."

"What is it now?"

"Peter told me to call Neal and now Neal's not answering."

"Hm, why wouldn't he just call himself?" Diana frowned, picking up the day's files. "That's not like either of them. Did you say Neal was just down the street?"

"Yeah, you know that little coffee shop?"

Diana nodded. "I'm going to head down there and see if I can find him since Peter's so worked up."

"Ok."

Fifteen minutes later, his phone rang again. Jones sighed before picking it up.

Diana was looking around the coffee shop, none of which even looked close to Neal. "He's not here, Jones,"

"But I've got him there on the database," Jones countered.

"He's not here." Diana repeated. "I don't know where he is but…"

She noticed a couple Animal Control officers rounding up a chocolate lab with a red collar.

"Is there a name on the tag?" One of them asked.

"Yeah…a 'Peter Burke.'" The other replied.

"Call you back, Jones,"

Diana walked over to the officers quickly. "Did you say Peter Burke?"

"Yes," the one nearest to her answered, straightening up. "You know him?"

"Yes, he's my boss," She answered, showing the officers her badge. They stepped back, letting her kneel next to the dog. "But this isn't my boss's dog. He has a yellow lab, male and…"

She trailed off as she spotted Neal's anklet attached to the dog's collar, pulling it around towards her. Diana quickly redialed Jones' number.

"Neal's off his anklet."

" _I'll call Peter."_

Diana hung up. "I'm taking this dog into custody as evidence in pursuit of a fugitive."

The officers backed up, giving her room as she wound the leash they'd attached to the dog's collar around her hand. She took a look at the tag. "Regina, huh?"

Regina wagged her tail, following Diana obediently as she set a brisk pace back towards the Bureau.

Peter walked in the Bureau, throwing his jacket over the seat of his chair and turning to Diana, nearly running into her as she ran to meet him. Regina panted under her desk as one of the interns set a mug of water on the floor for her.

"What do we have?"

"Not much," Diana answered. "The only functioning camera near the shop was an ancient ATM camera nearly a block away."

"What was wrong with the other cameras?"

"They'd been shut down for maintenance for two hours this morning." Jones supplied and Peter grimaced.

Diana offered Peter a picture. "This is the clearest image we have of Neal leaving the coffee shop. We can see him getting into a cab and which direction the cab leaves in but not enough to get the cab number or a plate."

"Dammit, Neal," Peter hissed. "That's it?"

"We're running Neal's aliases through train and airport terminals now and we put out an APB for his description. Without knowing where he's going or why, it's hard to know what he'll do next."

Diana waited until Jones finished before stepping up to Peter. "Can I talk to you?"

Peter nodded and followed Diana up to his office and shut the door behind them.

"I called Neal this morning." Diana said softly. "I didn't think about it until Jones mentioned it this morning. Caffrey doesn't say goodbye when he hangs up but he did this morning, to me, and again to Jones after he called him."

Peter rubbed his forehead. "He knew he was running but…if he took the time to say goodbye, he must not have wanted to go. The last time he ran, when he left his family, he said he was forced to, that he was hiding from someone."

"And Peter…" Diana looked down for a moment. "Was there something going on between you and Neal?"

Peter blinked in surprise. "Wha…what are you talking about?"

"I heard you and Neal yesterday when you were fighting in the parking lot. Neal said…Neal said 'you're afraid I'm not the man you love anymore.'"

"Diana…" Peter sighed and Diana shook her head.

"I'm gay, Peter, I'm not one to judge. But…Elizabeth, how…?"

"Elizabeth knows about me and Neal and it hasn't even been going on that long, we're not even really…" Peter sighed again. "I think this is my fault. When he needed me, I was more worried about whether or not he was telling me the truth, or if he was still Neal. He was terrified and I couldn't see it."

Diana gripped his shoulder. "We'll find him."

A knock on the door and Jones stuck his head in. "APB came in, airport security noticed someone on the cameras matching Neal's description just before 8 o'clock this morning."

Within the hour, they had the video playing in the conference room of Neal flashing his grin at the clerk, getting his first class upgrade free of charge.

"That's definitely Neal," Peter stated, turning back to his crew. "Any leads on where he was going?"

"He purchased a ticket to Dubai under the name Tim Crowley, used a credit card with the same name."

"Dubai," Peter murmured. "It's too simple; it's not Caffrey."

Diana shook her head. "I don't know, boss, the plane has been experiencing long-distance communication troubles. They can only communicate short-wave so our first chance to get in contact with them will be in Cairo when they stop for fuel."

"So he offs his anklet and hops a flight out of the country? It's not like Neal."

"Maybe that's the point." Jones interjected. "It's not like him at all which leaves us second-guessing everything he does. Maybe he's still in the city. We can't communicate with the plane to confirm he's on it, we're forced to wait but we have no leads. Security cameras show he didn't leave the plane after boarding and they wouldn't be able to tell us if he parachuted out."

"Now that would be Neal," Peter noted.

"So we're stuck waiting ten hours until the plane reaches Cairo."

Peter tapped the pen against his lips. He looked across the office to see Hughes watching him. He turned back to look at his crew. "Keep looking. Let me know the moment you find anything."

He walked out, meeting Hughes halfway down the aisle.

"Find anything?"

"We have Caffrey getting on a plane to Dubai."

"It's 'Caffrey' now?" Hughes asked and Peter blinked. "I didn't think you'd disassociate him that quickly."

Peter sighed, shaking his head. "I didn't think Neal would run again."

"Let me know when you get in contact with the plane."

Peter nodded as Hughes passed him, going up the stairs to his office. Peter watched him before heading out.

* * *

Diana found him later in the storage room where Neal had first admitted how he felt, where he'd first truly believed he could have both Neal and Elizabeth. He was sitting on the desk that he'd pressed Neal against and if he closed his eyes, he could still feel the way Neal felt against him and hear the way the smaller man panted in his ear.

"You know, sometime last week I spotted Neal looking disheveled. He'd even missed a button on his shirt. And I teased him about making out with some blond clerk in a closet. I said 'if Peter catches you, he'll have you back in prison so fast…' But it was you, wasn't it? In here with him."

"Yeah," Peter said softly. "That was the first day he told me he felt the same way about me."

"As you did about him?"

Peter nodded and Diana looked down briefly. "How long, boss?"

"Have I been attracted to him? Since we started on his case over eight years ago. But I fell for him, really fell for him, when he turned away from the greatest treasure the world has seen in a long time to save my wife. Elizabeth always knew and she kept pressuring me and pressuring me to say something to him. But after Kate, and then Alex, and Sara…"

"It's tough, isn't it?" Diana said softly. "Watching the person you love loving someone else?"

Peter turned to her. "That's why I have the best wife in the entire world and I wouldn't trade her for anything. It was her idea, actually, her suggestion that I could have both her and Neal. She even seemed thrilled that I'd finally found someone to complete us."

"Well," Diana shrugged. "Neal is like the male, slightly-more-criminal, version of Elizabeth."

"What?"

"Have you noticed how much they have in common? Art, music, food, wine, books…they both look at you the same way when you say something dumb…"

"Hey."

Diana grinned as she lightly hit his shoulder. "Relax, boss. I'm just saying…if Elizabeth is cool with you and Neal, then so am I. Let's catch him and drag his skinny ass back here."

Peter nodded slowly. "Jones said earlier…'without knowing where he's going or why…'"

"We have a strong indication of where…"

"Now we need to know why. Diana, get me everything you can find on George Alexander Richards. I want to know what drove Neal to run that first time. Whatever it is, it's why he's running now."

* * *

June stood on the steps of the house, looking back at the house. Her driver stood below, holding the door to the car open.

"Come along now, dear, we'll miss our reservation."

Her granddaughter hurried out, dressed in a strapless white dress. "Here I am, Grandma."

The two were laughing and talking as they got into the car. The driver went around and pulled off into traffic.

Across the street, a man with sandy blond hair leaned against the decorative stone wall, watching them. He finished his cigarette and crushed it beneath his boot, looking up at the grand house. He straightened and stretched, the sunlight glinting off the knife in his belt.


	10. Your Move

" _I'm sorry, Mozzie, but I can't stay here right now. I couldn't tell you before because I didn't want you to have to lie to Elizabeth and Peter. They're good friends to have, even for people like us. But I do need one last favor."_

" _What is that exactly?"_

" _Peter's going to look for me and I think you're the only person who might be able to find me."_

" _You don't think he'll be able to find you?"_

" _It depends on how long this lasts. If I'm gone for more than a few days, he won't. I'll have gone too far, mentally and physically. It'll have to be you; you have to come after me."_

" _Neal…you're scaring me. The way you acted in the hospital, and now…you're jumpy. You've checked your watch nine times."_

" _I'm…scared, Moz." Neal laughed weakly and shook his head. "No, I'm terrified. This guy I'm going to try and draw out…what he'll do to me if he catches me…and the guy who's got my back in this…I don't trust him."_

" _Then bow out. There's no shame in saving your own life."_

_Neal shook his head. "Catching this guy…if he can be caught…that's enough of a reason for me to risk it."_

_Mozzie sighed. "What do you need me to do?"_

" _Something's going to happen after I leave. You'll know it when you see it. And then, and only then, you'll have to get into contact with me and get me to come back."_

" _If you know you have to come back, it should be easy for me to convince you."_

" _It depends…"_

"… _on how long you've been gone."_

_Neal nodded then down at the board. "One last game?"_

Mozzie had been sitting on a bench in Central Park after his and Neal's conversation, going over and over it in his head. He was sure that Neal was on his way out of the country by this point and he found himself wondering what it was that he should be looking for.

* * *

Four hours in and they didn't have much to show for the effort.

"Come on, Jones, where are we?"

"Caffrey was really good at covering his tracks, boss. There are no official records that George Richards even existed in Lakeshire, Missouri."

Peter sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Diana?"

"I've got a few yearbook photos and a newspaper article, that's it. Apparently, Neal was good at well, everything; enough for them to write an article about it."

"Nothing to link Neal to George?"

"Nothing."

Peter frowned, looking at the meager amount of material that he himself had dug up and it was little more than hearsay about George's disappearance.

"Maybe we're looking at this the wrong way." He murmured. "Jones, start looking through the old records. Hard copies, documents…call the local library. Diana, check our records. Something like this is bound to have wound up in the FBI case files."

"I'm on it, boss,"

He picked up the printout of the newspaper article Diana had found, reading the first line that sprung to his attention. ' _To top it off, George came in first during this past weekend's swim meet..."_ Peter found himself drawn to the photo of a 15-year old Neal with his arm around Matt's shoulders, holding a blue ribbon up between them. Both sported matching broad grins.

"What happened to you, Neal?" Peter whispered.

* * *

_The light reflected off the gun barrel and he took it with shaking hands. He could see his own blood, caked in between his fingers. It made his fingertip slide against the trigger and he had to hold the gun with both hands to keep it steady._

" _There you go, Georgie-boy. It's not that hard, see? Just squeeze the trigger and all the pain goes away."_

_He adjusted his grip, trying to see where he was aiming. He swallowed, his mouth was dry and tasted foul._

" _Go ahead then, Georgie,"_

"Mr. Crowley?"

Neal jerked, sitting up and looking up at the stewardess. She smiled apologetically.

"Sorry to wake you but you appeared to be having a bad dream. Is everything okay?"

Neal looked around then nodded. "Yes, thank you, I'm fine."

"Would you like some water?"

"That'd be great, thank you,"

As she disappeared down the aisle, he took out a small silver vial and tipped a single white pill into his palm. The vial was gone by the time she returned and he waited until she had left once again before swallowing it, chasing it with the water. It had been a long time since he had to rely on anti-anxiety pills just to function. The stress of the plan was starting to get to him.

"Oh, Peter," he whispered. "I miss you so much right now."

Peter had always made him feel safe. Sitting in the Bureau, so many friendly faces around him, he was safe. Every time he'd been in trouble, whether it was a case or his own foolishness, they had come for him. They had always come for him.

Neal blinked back the tears and looked out the window at the clouds. He was doing this for them, after all. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through the missed calls of which at least eight of were Peter. He lingered over Peter's number, his thumb resting on the 'send' button. He hesitated and his hands started to shake. After a moment, he pulled the phone to him and scrolled through the menu to 'Send Text Message.'

* * *

Their leads on George Richards had run dry and they were no closer to finding Neal with three hours to go until the plane touched down in Cairo. Peter packed up what little they'd found and picked up Regina's leash. After all, Neal had already gotten her a tag so he might as well adopt her. He was sure Satchmo would enjoy having a new friend.

Driving home, he rolled down the window and Regina eagerly stuck her head out, wagging her tail furiously. Peter couldn't help but smile as Regina left the window to flop down in the seat, nudging her head under his hand. He rubbed her ears automatically and her tail thumbed against the door.

"You're a good girl, aren't you? You need a bath, though."

He pulled into the driveway and wondered just how he was going to explain this to Elizabeth. She didn't even know that Neal was gone yet.

"Hey honey!" Elizabeth greeted him happily when he came in, pecking his lips. "Aw, I thought I said bring Neal home for dinner. Unless Neal grew a lot of fur in the past few hours…"

Still she knelt, welcoming the newcomer. Satchmo trotted towards them then stopped at the sight of the new dog in his domain. His ears perked curiously, his tail standing straight up. Elizabeth bit her lip as Regina wagged her tail, the two touching noses and Satchmo twitched his tail a couple times. Satchmo took a quick step forward, as if playing, and Regina rolled onto her back, exposing her belly, her tail wagging slightly. Satchmo gave a breathy 'woof' then went to lie down in the kitchen once more.

"I think he's telling me to finish cooking. Why don't you call Neal and find out what's keeping him then give Miss…Regina a bath?" El offered as she headed back to the kitchen.

Peter sighed. "Neal's not coming, El,"

"Oh? Did he have plans?"

"Sort of."

El stopped and stepped back out, her eyes wide and fearful. "What's wrong, Peter?"

"He ran, El. He's on a plane to Cairo as we speak. I've been trying to track him all day…Oh, El…"

He half-ran to her side as she was suddenly blinking back tears and he held her tightly against his chest as she cried. Satchmo was instantly at their feet, whining. Regina sat quietly in the foyer.

"Why, Peter? Why would he run? He had us, he only had five months before he got off his anklet…why?"

Peter shook his head, rocking her gently. "I don't know, El. I've been trying to figure that out all day."

His phone ran loudly from his pocket and El sighed, stepping back as he apologized. "It's fine. Maybe it's Diana with something about Neal."

She turned the stove down before walking around him to Regina. "Come on, girl, let's get you cleaned up."

As Elizabeth took Regina upstairs, Satchmo was on his feet and bounded after them, no doubt to keep an eye on the new dog.

Peter sighed then answered his phone. "Burke."

" _Peter, there's been a break-in…"_ Diana answered.

"That's NYPD, why did they call us?"

" _They didn't. It was at June's house."_

"I'll be right there."

Peter ran upstairs to the bathroom where Elizabeth had just gotten Regina into the bathtub. Satchmo sat next to Elle and wagged his tail when Peter came in.

"El, there's been a break-in over at June's house. I'm going over to make sure she's okay."

"Yeah," El nodded, running her hands over her face. "You go ahead, I've got this."

Peter sighed before kissing her cheek, heading back downstairs. Elizabeth heard the door shut and lock and then the car start. It was only then that she sat back on the bathroom floor with both dogs next to her and pulled out her phone, dialing a number she knew by heart.

"Neal?" She whispered softly.

" _Hello, Elizabeth,"_

"Why, Neal?" Her voice wavered as she fought back tears. He hesitated to answer on the other side of the line.

" _If I tell you something, can you promise not to tell anyone else? Not even Peter?"_

Elizabeth bit her lip, looking from one dog to the next. "I promise."

* * *

Peter had to park a block away from June's house and flashed his badge to the police manning the perimeter. Diana was waiting for him at the door.

"This is a lot for a break in."

"Update that to murder."

"Murder!"

"It's…horrible, boss. Detective Manning of the NYPD is upstairs in Neal's room. It's a bloodbath."

"…Neal?" Peter choked out and Diana's eyes widened and she shook her head quickly.

"It was June's maid; she was the only one home when the man came in."

"Do they have anything?"

"Not much. The driver says he saw a blond-haired man watching the house before June and her granddaughter left for the day but June didn't have security cameras and no one saw anyone leaving."

A man stepped out of the house, dipping under the crime scene tape across the door.

"Agent Barrigan, you expressed interest in my findings?"

Diana nodded. "Detective Manning, this is my boss, Agent Peter Burke. Peter, this is Detecting Mitchell Manning,"

The man offered Peter his hand. "A pleasure, Agent Burke, though I wish we'd met under better circumstances."

"Likewise. Can you tell what happened?"

"So far as we can tell, a man, approximately six feet tall according to the angle of the blood splatter, entered through the front where he stabbed Ms. Barlow in the front foyer then dragged her upstairs. I believe a consultant for your division was staying here?"

"Yes, Neal Caffrey,"

"And he stayed in the upstairs loft?"

"Yes."

"Then I believe the message is meant for him, Agent Burke."

"What message?"

"Come see for yourself. "

Detective Manning led the way through the front room and up the stairs carefully weaving among crime scene investigators as they photographed blood droplets on the staircase carpet. As they reached the top landing, a CSI shoved his way past them, pale as a ghost and covering his mouth as if he might vomit at any moment.

Diana gasped when they entered Neal's room and turned away for a moment. Peter had to swallow hard. He hardly recognized the room. The table was smashed and the floor was blood-soaked; new red splatters decorated the wall. He watched as two men zipped up a black bodybag and looked around at the yellow markers next to what appeared to be chunks of flesh.

"Is that…"

"Ms. Barlow." Manning said softly. Peter tried to decide whether he wanted to breathe through his nose or his mouth. "Whoever this man was, he was calm and fearless. He took his time and he was brutal."

He stopped, pointing up to the wall where June had hung her favorite painting of Neal's, an old broken-down bridge. Words were drawn across the wall and painting alike, written in blood.

_COME OUT COME OUT WHEREVER YOU ARE_

Peter felt empty and cold.  _This is why Neal was running. This is why._

"Could you…could you get fingerprints?" Peter asked softly and the detective shook his head.

"Every print we found was either the victim, Ms. Ellington, or your consultant. He even made the victim write that message before he killed her."

Peter sighed, looking around. Last night, he and Neal had been in this exact room. He thought of all the memories they'd shared here. The night Neal helped him sketch the black widow killer, the night Neal told him about Adler, and, of course, the more recent memories…he'd never be able to look at it the same way again.

"Agent Burke,"

Peter turned back to the detective.

"Do you know where your consultant is? Because he may be in extreme danger."

Peter was heading downstairs when he heard his name called. June was in the living room and looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. He was at her side in an instant, wrapping his arms around her.

"Oh, Peter, tell me Neal's okay." She gripped him tightly. "Tell me he's okay."

"Neal's on a plane halfway to Cairo. He's fine."

June nodded. "Something bad was coming, he said. S _omeone_  was coming for him. But I never imagined anything like this. Amelia was…she was family, Peter. She'd never harmed anyone in her life."

"We're going to catch this bastard, June. I promise you that."

* * *

In the darkened FBI Bureau, a single man carried a file upstairs. He had no need to turn on the lights; he'd walked these halls far too many times to need assistance. He entered the White Collar Crime Unit silently and slid over to the cart of requested files from the day before. He slid the file he carried into the stack and looked around, thinking of the crew working this case.

"If anyone can catch you, Marcus, we will."


	11. Truth in Lies

Neal stood in the airport terminal in Cairo, looking out over the blue water of the Mediterranean. Or rather, the black water of the Mediterranean. After all, it was nearly 6 a.m. in Cairo, six hours ahead of New York City. Instead of thinking back to those he'd left behind, he thought about watching the fast-approaching sunrise. He'd always wanted to travel through Egypt, see the pyramids, and the ancient wall art that had withstood the test of time. He imagined diving to find the lost temple of Alexandria and what lost artifacts it held. Of course, all these thoughts were simply pleasant distractions from the real reason he was there.

After his short conversation with Elizabeth, he'd been cut off from New York City once again. He'd tried to sleep without much success and now he was in Cairo, not sure where to go next. His flight for Dubai had left without him as he was sure Peter would soon be discovering. He wondered if Peter and Elizabeth were asleep now or would Peter stay up all night, trying to piece together his escape. It was simple and that was the point. He could only hope it was a red flag to Peter.

He sat down in the nearest seat and turned his hat over in his hands. He couldn't stay here much longer. Interpol was certain to have an APB out on him and security would start checking soon. Where should he go?

Putting his hat back on, he started out of the terminal, stopping only to get some coffee. The only thing he hated about international travel was the jetlag. Maybe he would do a little sightseeing. Sometimes it was just better to hide in plain sight. After all the parts he'd played, American Tourist shouldn't be that hard.

He wandered outside, following the street lights down to the harbor. Walking to the end of one of the piers, he sat down on the edge, his feet dangling above the water. He looked out as the sky was just beginning to lighten, turning from pitch black to a beautiful deep blue to a pale blue shot with rose and gold streaks. He committed every second to memory, resolving to paint the awe-inspiring scene the moment he had a chance.

* * *

Peter sat at his kitchen table, staring at the files spread out before him. He had Neal's file and what little they had pulled up on George Richards. He willed there to be something more, something he had missed. All he had was the still unwavering trust he felt for Neal and the nagging feeling that this escape was nothing like Neal. Neal was theatric, elegant, and elaborate…in the three years chasing him, he always knew to look beyond the obvious. But here, there was nothing beyond the obvious.

Neal had tripped his anklet during a server outage at the US Marshalls office.

He had then taken a cab to an airport, bought a ticket using a credit card he'd gotten under a false name, and then taken the flight to Cairo.

That was it. He hadn't gotten on the flight to Dubai so he had to be in Cairo. Yet, with Interpol being less than cooperative about retrieving Neal non-violently and handing him over to the FBI's custody, what could he do?

Peter picked up his phone and scrolled down to Neal's number, staring at it. He took a deep breath and hit 'send.'

He listened to the phone ring. He ran a hand over his face, pinching at the bridge of his nose.

" _You have reached the voicemail mailbox of_ Neal Caffrey.  _Please leave a message at the beep."_

"Neal…" Peter breathed, his voice choking with the emotions running through him. Anger, betrayal…longing, hurt… "Neal, I don't know what you're trying to tell me. I'm missing the message and I'm worried that by the time I figure it out, you're going to be lost to me, to us, to yourself. Neal, please…"

The recording timed out and Peter ended the call, letting his head fall into his hands. After a few minutes passed, he hit redial and waited for voicemail to pick it up again.

"Neal, something bad has happened and whoever did it is targeting you. I need to know what's going on so I can help you. Call me."

"Peter?"

Elizabeth pulled his old robe a little tighter around her and he hung up the phone.

"No news?"

Peter shook his head. "The last pin is in Cairo. If he left or is still there, I don't know. But this guy…the guy who  _murdered_  June's maid…he's after Neal. If Neal was still here, if Neal had been in that room today…he'd be dead right now. I feel horrible for it but I'm relieved that it was her, not him."

Elizabeth sat down at the table next to him, taking his hand in hers.

"Neal knew this was going to happen, honey," She said softly. "From the moment he had to tell you his real name, he knew this was going to happen."

Peter blinked suddenly. "Wait…what?"

Elizabeth frowned, her brow furrowing. "What did I say?"

"He knew this was going to happen. He knew from…he had to tell me his real name because his brother was in trouble. If the man who's after Neal…what if he had a hunch Neal was in New York City but didn't know who he was or where he was hiding?"

"He could've kidnapped Neal's brother to make him reveal himself!"

"The kidnapping wasn't about the mayor's son. That was a cover to hide…he was trying to draw Neal…George…out and…Oh El…

"What? What is it?"

"Everything he did before he left, all the trust issues, asking me why I didn't trust him, why I thought he was running? He was asking me to think twice, to look beyond what he was doing. He was asking me to back his play."

Elizabeth smiled. "And you figured it out."

Peter nodded. "Neal is running to force his hand, force him to act in a way that would reveal himself to Neal…George...so that he can…"

"You can still call him 'Neal,' baby," Elizabeth laughed but Peter shook his head.

"It's not about that, I'm trying…I'm trying to think…do you have the Richards' number?"

Elizabeth nodded and Peter began shoving the papers back into their places.

"Call Matt and tell him to come by the Bureau. I've got to get back."

"Peter, it's the middle of the night! What can you do?"

"I can't sleep," Peter said softly, kissing her quickly. "Neal needs me."

She nodded. "Well, it's only one o'clock in the morning. Maybe Matt's still awake. It is New York City after all."

* * *

Matt met Peter at the Bureau and Peter found himself doing a double-take, flinching against the heartfelt pang. Dressed in black slacks, a white shirt, and silver-black vest, Matt was the spitting image of his brother.

"Good to see you again, Agent Burke. Allen says you owe him one. He doesn't like clubbing on his own."

"Send my apologies and please, call me Peter. I brought coffee, I don't know if you drink coffee…"

"What sane person in New York City doesn't?"

Peter got security to let them in and cut the lights on for their floor.

"I'm sorry about the late hour but Neal may be in danger and you may have information that can help."

"That's a few 'mays' in there, Peter," Matt said softly. "He ran away again, didn't he?"

Peter nodded, offering Matt a seat in his office. Matt sighed, taking the coffee Peter handed up and wrapping his hands around the cup.

"He hasn't called me once or even spoken more than two words to me since he pulled me out of the water. I'd help, if I could, but I don't know anything about where he's going."

"That doesn't concern me as much anymore," Peter stated. "I'm more concerned about what's chasing him."

Matt looked up. "Someone's after my brother?"

"Yes, but I don't know who. And without knowing anything about who Neal was before he was…Neal, I'm flying blind." Peter sat forward. "I want to help him, Matt."

Matt sighed, sitting back for a moment before he took a long drink of his coffee and began unbuttoning his vest.

"Let's get to work then."

Peter led him back out onto the floor. "Neal's desk is the last on the left."

Matt sat down and immediately pulled the top drawer open then sighed.

"Ties? What the hell, George? What do you keep in the bottom drawer, belts?"

* * *

Sunlight streamed in through the large windows when Diana and Jones rejoined the White Collar Crime Unit and Diana stopped beside Neal's desk, looking down at the more rugged version of Neal Caffrey. Peter hurried over as she started to confront him.

"It's okay, Diana, he's helping. He's trying to hack into Neal's computer to see if there's any information Neal left us."

"Actually, I finished hacking into Neal's computer twenty minutes ago. Now I'm hacking into the FBI records."

Peter coughed, having just started a sip of coffee. Diana just laughed, heading back to her own desk.

"You're doing what?"

"I found a paper trail leading from the FBI case that was opened after George disappeared to this office. Someone created a hard copy of the case files before they were deleted from the system. I'm trying to get the record number. If we have the record number…"

"We can find the record."Peter finished.

"And I'm willing to bet it has clues as to who we're dealing with now and who's been helping Neal."

Peter stopped halfway to the clerk's desk and turned back around.

"What do you mean, 'who's been helping Neal?'"

Matt looked up. "I found a long list of encrypted emails to Neal in the 48 hours leading up to his run. It's all very bare bones, no extra information in the body of the email, but from what I can tell, this person set up everything about George's escape from when to cut his anklet to what plane to catch. They were using several false IP addresses but at least one of them lead right back here to the FBI."

"Someone here at the FBI?"

Matt nodded then leaned forward, looking at his screen intently. "1B-04217."

Peter blinked in understanding then hurried over to the record clerk, giving her the number Matt had just sounded off. She suddenly looked confused.

"Yes, sir, I have that file right here."

"You…what?" Peter asked in surprise.

"Yes, sir, it was on the cart this morning. You must've requested it yesterday."

"I didn't know it existed yesterday." Peter protested.

"I told you," Matt said behind him, leaning back in his chair. "We're being led."

Peter took the file delicately from the clerk. It was thick and meticulously organized, the notes were written in a careful, precise handwriting that was familiar and yet he couldn't quite place it.

"It's everything. Everything on George Richards from junior high on up to…" He pulled out a separate manila folder, LAKESHIRE MEDICAL CENTER stamped across the front in green.

"The medical file," Matt breathed, getting to his feet and walking towards Peter. "You bastards actually have it."

Peter looked up. "Now, Matt,"

"No." Matt bit back sharply. "I sat next to my brother as they told me the likelihood of him waking up was slim to none. Two hours later, he walked out of the hospital dressed as an EMT, hotwired an ambulance, and disappeared. They told me he was dead and they STILL wouldn't tell me what happened to him."

His mouth set in a grim line, Peter held the file out to Matt. "Then let's find out what happened."

Matt took the folder from him slowly, sliding his hand over the surface almost reverently. He then turned, sitting back down at Neal's desk and setting the file on the top in front of him.

"Mom should really be here," Matt said softly as Peter came to stand behind him.

Then he quickly reached forward and opened the file with a snap as if getting it over with. The first page was a summary of the patient's injuries and Matt picked it up, holding it where they both could see.

_Massive abrasions over seventy five percent of victim's body…three cracked ribs…broken wrist, right…dislocated shoulder, right…significant signs of rape…massive blood loss…subdermal hematoma and…_

Matt dropped the paper and ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. Peter recognized the look on his face; it was the same as Neal's after Kate died…vengeance. Matt stood sharply, slamming his fist into the wall behind them hard enough to knock a painting down that was four feet away.

"Peter, I'll help you find who did this to my brother. Just let me have five minutes with them."

"No." Peter said firmly, picking up the medical file and handed him the rest of the file, keeping the medical notes tucked under his arm. "And don't hit things like that. I don't need you getting kicked out of here." Matt glared at him.

"Does any of this look familiar?"

Matt snorted, going through the pictures quickly. "Of course it does. It's my brother's entire life from grade school to the…the..."

He stopped at a picture. "I've seen this man before."

"Who?" Peter stepped around to his side. Matt was looking at a fuzzy shot of a 15-year old Neal talking to a man with sandy blond hair.

"I don't know. George never told me anything about him, not even his name, but I used to see them together a lot."

Peter pulled the picture out. "Diana!"

He handed her the picture. "Get me facial recognition on that man. Everything you can find and fast."

"On it."

Matt handed the file back to Peter. "I'm going to go get some coffee. Do you want anything?"

Peter blinked in surprise. "We just got a lead, where are you going?"

Matt shrugged, backing away. "Coffee."

He turned smoothly, jogging out to catch the elevator on its way down. Peter shook his head.

"No, there's no way that they're related," he muttered sarcastically.

* * *

Outside, Matt jogged to the side of the building, stepping off the main road and into a side alley. He glanced around before quickly dialing his brother's cell number.

"Come on, pick up," he hissed.

The minute sound of rubber scraping against cement and the flick of metal against skin reached his ears. Matt spun, lashing out and the blond man behind him barely ducked out of the way, stepping back a couple feet and grinning. Matt frowned, closing his phone and bringing his arms up to guard.

"Nice reflexes, Matthew," the blond laughed. "They trained you well."

Matt smirked. "You must be Marcus. George told me so much about you."


	12. The Noose Draws Tight

Peter sat in his office, holding his mug in one hand as he went through the file that had mysteriously appeared just when they needed it. From George Richards' disappearance case, it had been meticulously maintained but well-worn as if someone thumbed through it regularly. He thought of the case agent who'd been working this, wondered if he knew that the missing George Richards was right here in the FBI. Or had been.

He sat back, glancing at his watch. Matt had only been going for a couple minutes so he stood and walked over to Diana.

"Did you notice that Matt calls Neal both 'Neal' and 'George?'"

Diana shrugged. "I haven't spent as much time around him as you apparently have."

Peter shook his head. "It's just…the rest of his family only called him 'George.' I've been struggling with what to call Neal ever since I found out what his real name is. But Matt…he switches back between 'Neal' and 'George' like it's nothing. He barely blinks."

Diana straightened up from the computer, turning back to him slowly. "You think…maybe Matt is already used to calling him 'Neal?' Like maybe…"

"Like he knew all along." Peter finished.

Diana shook her head. "They really are brothers, aren't they?"

"Come on," Peter motioned for her to follow him, heading for the elevator.

* * *

The man called Marcus straightened as Matt watched him warily. He twirled the knife between his fingers for a moment.

"So Georgie mentioned me, did he now? What did he say?"

"That you were a two-bit crook who'd never get past pick-pocketing nobodies in a one-horse town." Matt scowled and Marcus laughed, shaking his head.

"Who knew George's little brother would turn out to be so much fun? You were such a brat when you were younger, now look at you. Ex-Marine turned FBI consultant, well, if they would accept your application."

Matt snarled. "Don't fuck with me. You  _raped_  my brother!"

"Among other things," Marcus smiled and the knife came to a standstill. "But I can see you don't want to talk. To fists, then."

Matt flew forward and Marcus' smile faltered as he was hard pressed to keep up. Matt grit his teeth with frustration as each strike was blocked and then the knife flashed. Matt fell back, blood running down his forearm from the shallow cut. Marcus was on him then and Matt fought furiously to stay out of the blade's range. He felt his flesh sear twice more, once across his stomach and once across his thigh before he risked an opening, striking Marcus across the jaw hard enough to knock him back a few feet.

Marcus stumbled, holding his jaw. A trickle of blood ran down from the corner of his mouth.

"Nice shot, kid," he laughed.

"Try this one." Matt snapped, pulling the gun he wore hidden under his waistband. Marcus' eyes widened.

Peter stepped out of the courtyard and off the main road, glancing around for Matt. He spotted him down the alley, facing the same blond man from the photo. He started towards them just as Matt pulled a gun.

"Matt!" he shouted, running towards the two. Diana was half a second behind him.

The blond man turned and ran as the first shot rang through the alley. Two more echoed behind him, chipping the brick where his head had been a moment ago. Matt ran after him despite Peter calling for him to stop. Peter and Diana turned down the alley after Matt and the blond man, barely able to keep them in sight from the speed at which they were running.

Matt pushed himself after his brother's attacker, trying to close the ground but the wiry man was fast and only increased the distance between them. Marcus got a good lead on his pursuer and turned around a corner, hiding himself and pulling his own gun, aiming for the spot where, in moments, Matt would appear.

Another gunshot rang out, echoing through the alleys and Peter put on an extra burst of speed. He rounded the corner to see Matt holding his side, blood leaking between his fingertips.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Peter kneeled next to him.

Diana stepped out carefully then surveyed the block. "He's gone, boss."

"Dammit. Diana, call an ambulance."

"I'm fine, Peter," Matt snapped. "He just grazed me. I've had worse."

Peter shook his head. "What happened?"

"He attacked me in the alley but got more than he could chew," Matt laughed lightly.

"Who was he? I know you know." Peter pressed.

"And why should I trust you?" Matt retorted. "Neal trusts you and it took you three days to figure out that Neal was begging you for help. And you still haven't realized how terrified he is."

"Terrified? I've seen Neal jump out of buildings without hesitating." Diana protested, closing her phone. The sound of sirens became audible in the distance. Matt shook his head and straightened up, looking at the now bloody slashes in his clothes.

"Damn, Allen bought me this shirt. He's going to be pissed." Matt muttered then looked back at them. "Look, you want me to trust you? Call off the sirens. I don't do hospitals."

Peter scowled, setting his hands on his hips as he matched stares with Neal's younger brother.

* * *

Elizabeth met them at the door, pulling it open for them. Matt, pale from blood loss, looked around at the quiet living room and she quickly took his hand. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up. I've got a first aid kit in the bathroom."

Elizabeth nodded to Peter and he stepped back outside to talk to Diana.

Matt sat in the Burkes' bathroom as Elizabeth sponged hydrogen peroxide over a cut on his stomach.

"You're lucky the cuts are so shallow."

"Lucky that bastard likes to play with his food." Matt muttered.

Peter came jogging up the stairs. "Diana's half a block away in case he shows up. Now start talking."

"Peter, how long have you been sleeping with my brother?"

Peter and Elizabeth stared blankly at him, caught off guard. "How'd you know?" she asked.

"The coat rack in the foyer doesn't match the stain and wear on the living room furniture which means it's new. The old rack is in the spare bedroom down the hall and it has a hat rack, unlike the new one, and we both know how much Neal likes his hats. There was a picture on the mantle downstairs of you, Ms. Burke, and Neal. You had an arm around both. There are no storage containers in the spare room which is the most common use of spare rooms for childless couples which means that the room is used often by someone close to the family. There are clothes, male, on the bed in the spare room that are too small to be Peter's. And the most telling…"

Matt looked up at Peter. "When you read that medical waiver over my shoulder, when you saw what it said, you choked and stepped back. Your jaw and your right hand clenched and for that second, I wasn't the only one thinking about vengeance. You weren't just protective, you were possessive. So tell me…how long?"

"Twice." Peter answered begrudgingly. "But I've been in love with him for years."

Elizabeth nodded in agreement. "He really has."

"How can you love two people?" Matt asked quietly. "I can barely handle Allen."

"It's…"

Elizabeth looked to Peter expectantly and he blushed, trying to explain. "Loving two people…it's like having two suns. They're both incredible, bright, and they hold you in place. But you need both or everything is a little bit dimmer. I need Elizabeth. And I need Neal. Otherwise, I'm off-axis."

Elizabeth smiled softly. "That was pretty, honey."

Peter leaned down to kiss her then looked back at Matt. "How did you notice all that?"

"It was a game George and I used to play when we were children. We'd go into each other's rooms and move things to see if the other would notice. He and I got really good at noticing minor details." Matt sighed, worrying the bandage Elizabeth had placed over the worst of his wounds.

"What do you want to know, Peter?"

Elizabeth stood before he could answer. "Why don't we all go down to the kitchen and I'll cook dinner while you two talk?"

Matt shrugged and Peter let El lead them both downstairs, sticking them at the table without hesitation. Peter lowered his voice as she set to cooking, Satchmo and Regina watching her contentedly.

"The man who attacked you today was the same man in the picture you showed me. You didn't hesitate to try and shoot him and we don't even know if he's the one after Neal."

"I do." Matt said shortly then sighed at the look Peter gave him. "Look, there's a lot I haven't told you. First of all, I do know who he is. His name is Marcus Devereux and George used to roll with his crew fifteen years ago. George said he was never included in anything major and was usually just a front man."

"Why was Neal working with him?"

"Curiousity. It was the same year we found out what our father was like and George wanted to know what it was about the criminal life that attracted him. But we were both naïve and Marcus was far worse than George ever anticipated."

"Neal just…decided to pal around with a criminal?"

"George did this all the time. Whenever he was curious about something, he'd either study it for months or he'd find someone who knew everything there was to know on the subject and shadow them. Cars, guns, chess, art…"

"He's good with cars?"

"He once took apart the engine of our mom's station wagon and put it back together before she realized what he was doing. It ran better after that too."

"What happened with George and Marcus?"

"I remember George saying that Marcus was going to give him a test to see if he was ready to join his crew full-time. He didn't come home that night and the next day, the police called to say he was in the hospital."

"I remember this," Peter interrupted. "He stole an ambulance and disappeared."

"Right." Matt nodded. "But I didn't tell you he called me a week later and asked me to meet him in St. Louis. I rode a bus for five hours to be there and he told me he couldn't come home. That he had to leave Lakeshire, that he had to run away. I asked him why and he said 'Marcus can't find me. If he finds me, he'll kill me.' It was the first time in my entire life that I saw him scared of something."

"And then he disappeared again?"

"Not quite," Matt said softly. "He hung around in St. Louis for a few months while…while I made him a new identity."

Peter blinked in surprise. "You…"

"I created Neal Caffrey."

Peter ran a hand over his face. "You always knew he was here."

"No, I didn't know where he was. He'd drop me a postcard every now and then but I never knew for sure. And after George disappeared, Marcus started watching me. I played dumb and acted the grieving brother. Slowly, very slowly, Marcus stopped watching me and moved on. After eleven years, I thought it might be safe to try and reunite with my brother. After you arrested him and confined him to New York City, I knew exactly where to find him. But when I moved…"

"Marcus followed you."

"He didn't know who Neal was but after I gave away the city, it was only a matter of time before he put the pieces together."

"He had you kidnapped to draw Neal out and then attacked but Neal was already gone."

Matt sighed, folding his hands before him. "George ran from this man once. He's not running now. He's baiting. Marcus can't leave the country to go after him so he's forced to try and draw Neal back. That takes time, planning. Time for you to catch him."

Peter sat back, impressed once again with Neal's abilities. "Neal did all this to give me time to catch his rapist?"

There was a clash of a dropped pot in the kitchen and both men darted to their feet, turning to Elizabeth who was now staring at them with tears in her eyes. She covered her mouth with her hands despite the wet pasta now spreading itself across the kitchen floor.

"Neal…Neal was…"

Peter wrapped his arms around her and she hid her face in his chest. Matt watched them both sadly. After a moment, Elizabeth lifted her tear-streaked face.

"You have to bring him home, Peter. He's out there all alone right now and he's scared and he needs us."

Matt shook his head, wandering over to the mantle. There was a picture of Neal and Elizabeth at what appeared to be a pool party. He had an arm around her waist and she around his, both holding champagne flutes. The next one showed the FBI White Collar Crime Unit but there was no case going on. Instead, the agents had gathered around Neal to apparently wish him a happy birthday judging from the cupcake on his desk and the conical birthday hat someone had placed over his fedora.

"All this time, I was afraid he was alone and scared. For years, I was afraid for him."

Peter and Elizabeth turned to him, Elizabeth clutching her husband's hand. Matt smiled weakly at them both.

"He's not alone. He has us. Even if we can't be with him right now, he knows we're here and we're fighting for him."

* * *

Outside, sitting below the patio window, Marcus was slowly etching a word into the patio floor. He listened to Peter and Matt as they talked, completely unaware that they were being overheard. Completely unafraid. The wife…the wife, she seemed scared of him and she was concerned for Neal. But women were so weak, so emotional.

He'd learned today that taking Matt again wouldn't be easy, especially not by himself, and Roger was too gangly to be of any help against the brute. It was the only mistake he'd made so far. He had anticipated George running again and that didn't concern him. He would be back. It bothered him that George had anticipated that he would draw him back. So here he was, trying to figure out how to draw George back to him and George was sitting in Cairo waiting for him to move his piece. What else was George planning? How would this long game end?

He finished etching the last name and looked at his work.

PETER

ELIZABETH

MATTHEW

"Eenie…meenie…minie…moe…"


	13. The Man Behind the Curtain

Neal found himself counting the hours since he'd left New York City. He thought of those he'd left behind, those he'd asked in so many ways to help him, those he'd put in danger by asking. He'd finally holed up in a motel room, piecing together the files on Marcus Devereux that he'd taken from the FBI with his own knowledge of the man.

He had maps spread out on the bed, maps of New York City and surrounding areas. He had circled the docks where Marcus had taken Matt as well as several areas that fit where Marcus usually liked to organize. He had lists of names, criminals that Marcus might be using to orchestrate his next moves.

The phone on his desk rang and he picked it up on the first ring.

" _I have another name to add to the list. Roger Flint. From what I can dig up, he's a less skilled version of you."_

"Thanks, Moz,"

" _Don't mention it. Look, June's really upset and Peter's getting close. Don't you think it's time for you to come home?"_

Neal shook his head. "I can't move until I know what cards Marcus is holding."

"' _Cards are war in disguise of a sport.'"_

* * *

Neal smiled, writing down the name Mozzie had given him. "I think I've heard that name before. Roger Flint…"

After taking Matt home, Peter headed into the FBI early, meeting Diana and Jones in the conference room along with Detective Manning from the NYPD among others.

"The man we're searching for is Marcus Devereux."

Diana shook her head, scanning the file they'd put together on him. "This man has been implicated in everything from forgery to murder but never arrested. He's a ghost."

Peter nodded. "But we're going to catch him."

"How?"

"We have the one thing he wants more than anything and that's Neal."

"But Neal's halfway around the world in Cairo."

Peter smiled. "He's waiting on us to do our part. Marcus is going to try and lure Neal back to the States somehow and Neal's going to let him. Neal will return and lead us to Marcus. This is going to be our one chance to catch this illusive murderer and Neal is risking everything to give it to us. Right, we need everything we can find on this man. Let's find out what he's planning. If we can get ahead of him and stop it, maybe we can bring Neal home without having to put him in danger. Let's go."

As they filed out, each to their respective places, Diana stopped next to Peter.

"Peter, is this the man who attacked Neal?"

Peter nodded slowly. "Neal's willingly walking back into the hands of the one person who scares him. We have to be there to pull him back out. He started this without a second thought, he never even questioned that we would be there for him. We have to be there."

"We will be, Peter," Diana said softly, gripping his shoulder for a moment. "Don't worry."

* * *

He stood in the conference room, watching as the agents went to work, hunting down the information that would mean the difference between life and death for Neal Caffrey. He glanced through the window into Agent Burke's office, his gaze settling on the file on Peter's desk. Fourteen years…fourteen years since this had all begun and now the circle was finally drawing closed.

He brought up a secure line on his computer and sent a quick text message.

* * *

Neal looked up from his word when his phone beeped and he picked it up, reading the encrypted message.

_Burke on track. All is well?_

Neal scowled and quickly texted back. _Be careful. I might begin to think you care about me._

* * *

The man sighed at Caffrey's response. He folded his hands and looked down at the case files he was supposed to be reviewing. But he couldn't drag his thoughts away from a sixteen year old boy who'd nearly been beaten to death and then disappeared, a boy that nine years later came waltzing into his crime unit, a boy that had become one of his team's greatest assets and dearest friends.

Standing, he stepped outside the office and watched as Peter went from Diana to Jones, piecing together the fragments of information left behind by Marcus.

"Come on, Burke," Hughes said softly to himself. "Let's bring Caffrey home."

Hughes stepped back into his office, sitting at his desk, setting his elbows on the surface of the desk and folding his hands. He sighed, looking out at the storm he'd caused.

* * *

_**5 DAYS EARLIER** _

* * *

"Neal, Hughes wants to see you," Diana said shortly when Neal came in. He still looked pale from the ordeal with his brother but he was well enough to be sarcastic.

"I didn't do whatever it is he thinks I did."

"Just go," She waved him on with a smile and he shrugged, jogging up the stairs to Hughes' office.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Sit down and shut the door."

Neal blinked, making an odd face before shutting the door behind him and sitting down. Hughes picked up the file he'd been working on for years, the one case that always haunted him: a sixteen year old boy brutally beaten and raped only to disappear from the hospital ward. He had gone through that file a thousand times if he'd gone through it once.

"Hello George,"

Neal blinked in surprise as Hughes set the file in front of him. Cautiously, Neal opened it, thumbing through the notes Hughes had made until he reached the medical file where he shut it quickly, closing his eyes against the sudden flurry of emotion.

"How long have you known?"

"Since I first saw you in Burke's case file."

Neal ran a hand over his face. "That long, huh?"

"I was the agent assigned to George Richards' case,  _your_  case. I've been trying to find you for years."

Neal sighed, eyeing the file as if it might reach out and grab him. "So why didn't you say anything earlier?"

"Honestly," Hughes started slowly. "I wasn't sure it was you. You looked like George Richards but you didn't act at all like I expected."

"Denial is a wonderful thing. As is medication."

Hughes frowned and Neal shook his head, sitting back. "What do you want from me? An apology?"

"No, I want you to help me catch Marcus Devereux."

"No."

Hughes blinked in surprise. "You don't want to catch the man that did all those things to you?"

Neal shook his head firmly. "Look, I've done many things for this Bureau and I have placed my life on the line more times than I care to admit. But I'm not doing this. I'm not going to be your bait."

Hughes picked up the file and leaned back, flipping through it. Neal shifted uncomfortably.

"Can you not…do that?"

Hughes closed the file and set it on his desk.

"Do you know what Marcus has been doing since you disappeared?"

"I try not to think…"

"He's been murdering countless innocent people."

Hughes pulled out another file and tossed it into Neal's hands. Neal nearly dropped it before looking hesitantly up at Hughes. He glanced inside the file before closing it quickly, a hand over his mouth. Faced with the truth of his tormentor, he grew even paler.

"He's a butcher, a psychopath. I have dozens of murders where I can implicate him but nothing where I have enough evidence to convict him."

Neal tapped a finger against his mouth before setting his jaw and reopening the file, he flipped through the first few pages and Hughes fell silent. He could see the tension building in him, see the panic attack coming in the way Caffrey's hand shook with every page turn.

The file hit his desk as Caffrey stood. "I can't,"

Neal was pale as a sheet and he stormed out of the office, passing Peter on the stairs and nearly jogging down the aisle out of the department. He walked past the other agents without looking to either side and disappeared towards the records department. Hughes waited only a few seconds before pulling up the live feed from the security cameras. He watched as Neal took a service elevator to the top floor and disappeared into an unmarked door.

Peter came into his office then to discuss the day's mundane case and Hughes resolved to deal with Caffrey later, taking the files on George Richards and Marcus Devereux and putting them back in the drawer.

"Is something wrong with Neal?"

Hughes shrugged. "He's having a tough time dealing with his brother's close call."

Peter had turned to watch Neal exit the department before turning back to his supervisor, falling into the day to day with ease but Hughes could tell he was worried.

When he'd gotten the department started for the day, Hughes headed upstairs, finding the storage closet Neal had hidden himself in. He knocked lightly on the door but there was no sound within.

"George?"

"Please stop calling me that," Neal whispered, weak, and Hughes sighed, sitting down on the floor next to the door.

"Neal, then,"

"I can't…do…what you're asking of me. You  _know_  what he did to me."

Hughes nodded. "I know. But you seem to be coping well."

"I'm not coping at  _all._ " Neal snapped. "I can't face it, I can't even think about it without getting so scared that I shut down. I can't face him."

"You can con him."

Neal laughed. "I can't  _con_  him. Working a con is about being calm and confident, about believing what you're saying even if you know it's not true. I can't do that with Marcus. I can barely breathe right _now_  and I'm in a damn broom closet in the center of the FBI."

Hughes sighed and reached up, opening the door a crack. "It's probably because it's really stuffy in there."

Neal looked up at him from where he'd hugged his knees to his chest and hid his face in the hollow.

"What do you want from me?"

"You know Marcus knows you're here. You know it and I know it. Either he's going to drag you out or you can go to meet him."

Neal hid his face again and judging by the sudden tension in his body, Hughes knew he was pushing too hard. But he couldn't stop. Not now, not when they were so close.

"All I'm saying, Neal, is that you can face him alone…or you can face him with the full support of the FBI at your back."

He laid a hand on Neal's head, trying to offer what comfort he could. He'd never exactly been good at that part of the job. Slowly, very slowly, Neal started to relax.

"We'll have to con the FBI."

Hughes nodded. "We'll fake you running to draw Marcus out, make him act to bring you back."

"You'll have to send me out of the country."

"Let me handle that. I want you to make Peter think you're running."

Neal sighed, shooing his hand away and fixing his hair. "I don't trust you,"

"I know," Hughes said softly. "But Peter trusts me."

"I don't feel comfortable conning Peter."

"Think of it this way…you're saving his life."

Neal looked up at him and for a moment, Hughes could see the fear that he'd spent the last hour trying to get back under control. Then Neal shook his head, clenching and unclenching his fists for a moment before he stood, brushing off his clothes.

"I have a request."

Hughes stood as well. "What can I do for you?"

"Can you teach me to fight?"

Hughes looked at him for a moment, regarding why he might ask. "That would take longer than we have."

"Just the basics. Just enough to defend myself if I need to."

Sighing, Hughes laid a hand on his shoulder. "Neal, you won't have to."

"Yes, I will," Neal said softly. "If I go to face him, he won't let me go again without one."

Hughes slowly nodded.

They had a week to plan and for a week, they would meet for three hours before the offices opened and Hughes trained Neal all that he could, basic defense, counter measures, stances. Neal was not cut out for fighting, the gripping fear always at the back of his mind, but he always got back up and retook his stance.

"How are we getting me off my anklet? I can't cut it without tripping the alarm." Neal asked one morning.

"I was going to install a virus into the US Marshalls' office to imitate a server failure."

"And how are they not going to track that back to the FBI? I'm assuming you are not a programmer."

"Do you have someone in mind?"

Neal smiled, taking a long drink from his water bottle. "I do, in fact, the person who made it impossible to connect George Richards to Neal Caffrey."

A few hours later, Hughes took an early lunch and headed down to a small bistro a block away. He looked up when a strange man sat down at the table with him then recognized him a second later.

"Matt Richards,"

Matt grinned in a mirror image of his brother. "Neal says you need some tech support."

"You're his tech guy?"

Matt shrugged. "Always have been, it seems. What do you need?"

"US Marshalls, server failure, Wednesday morning around 6am."

"No problem."

Matt got up without another word, picking up a sandwich before he headed off once again.

The day before the run, Neal came to his office and there was sadness in his eyes as well as fear now.

"Peter suspects me now,"

Hughes couldn't quite figure out why the boy was on the verge of tears. He didn't know what to do so he unlocked the top drawer of his desk, pulling out a black leather wallet and setting it opposite him on the desk surface. Neal picked it up slowly.

"Tim Crowley? Do I look like a Tim?"

"It's just to get you through the terminal and the credit card is for anything you might need. The wallet also has a GPS-tracker and listening device built in. There's some cash in there as well. From me."

Neal nodded slowly, slipping the wallet into his pocket. Hughes sighed.

"When Peter understands what we're doing…"

Neal shook his head quickly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Don't…go there. You don't understand what Peter and I have…and making him doubt me…"

He shook his head again, blinking back tears. "You have my flight set?"

Hughes nodded. "And you may need this but keep it hidden."

Neal blinked as Hughes handed him a black badge case, flipping it open. "'FBI Field Agent Neal Caffrey…status: temporary…why do I need this?"

"That makes everything Marcus says to you a confession to a federal agent."

"How many strings did you have to pull to get this?"

"A few," Hughes laughed. "What do you think?"

"It's smart," Neal said after a moment. "Feels a bit blasphemous though, carrying it…it's also dangerous. If Marcus knows I have this…"

"That's why I said keep it hidden. And I got you these as well, since you look like a nervous wreck."

He handed Neal a bottle of anti-anxiety pills. "You're going to be alone for a few days. I don't know how you're coping now but it's going to be harder in Cairo."

Neal nodded, pocketing the bottle. "Is that it?"

"Watch your blocks."

Neal laughed lightly, standing. He glanced over his shoulder to see Peter on his computer and flinched, looking down.

"And Neal?"

Neal looked back up to him.

"Good luck. And remember, 6:30am exactly."

* * *

_**NOW** _

* * *

Diana brought a new file to Peter's desk, offering it to him as he finished his third cup of coffee.

"I found this in the archives. It's everything Devereux has been suspected of and it goes all the way back to a couple years before George Richards was attacked."

Peter frowned as he sifted through the file. "I've seen this handwriting before. I just can't place it."

"It's the same as whoever assembled the Richards file."

Peter set the file down, tapping his chin. "Matt said someone inside the FBI was helping Neal. I wonder who it is."

"Well, whoever it is, they can't possibly want to catch Devereux more than we do." Diana laughed.

Peter nodded. "Let's get this over with. I want Neal back in this office by Monday."

Hughes stood just inside his office, looking out over the various agents as they worked on the case furiously. He thought of Neal, alone in Cairo, waiting for them to do their part. He thought of Marcus, somewhere in the dredges of New York City, planning his next move. Would they be ready?

* * *

Marcus took a bite of his sandwich, watching the front door of the FBI office building from beneath his black fedora. As he stood there, his phone began to buzz loudly in his pocket. Licking a bit of sauce from his thumb, he leaned against the bus stop and pulled the phone out.

"Speak."

" _Everything is in place."_

"Excellent. Tell everyone to stay put and wait for my signal."

" _As you wish."_

Marcus closed the phone and set it back in his pocket, finishing his lunch.


	14. Trapped

_**Fifteen Years Earlier** _

* * *

He couldn't believe it, couldn't believe his father as alive. For a moment, he'd been so excited, so relieved, and then Mom had started shouting. Calling his father names that no hero should be called and slowly he understood. She had lied to protect him and Matt, lied to make them believe and aspire to be something more than what they were. When he heard his father speak of prison, he turned and ran from the scene.

He heard Paul calling after him the second he started to run, actually heard Paul running after him while his real parents fought. But he was lighter and faster and he kept running, tears streaming down his face.

"George!"

His mother's voice, following shortly if awkwardly by his father's but he ran on. He ran until he could no longer hear the voices of his parents, only the steady beat of his sneakers on the pavement and the ungainly sound of his bag hitting his hip. He ran until he couldn't run any longer, his body gasping for breath and he slid to the ground in a small alley next to a coffee shop. Tucking his knees to his chest, he sobbed quietly.

After a while, he heard footsteps and someone knelt before him, laying a hand on his head. He jerked his head up, staring in wonder and fear at the blond-haired man. But the man smiled and everything seemed all right. He was clean, well-dressed, with chiseled features and broad shoulders that alluded to a hidden strength.

"Hey there," the man said soothingly, pulling a white handkerchief from his inside jacket pocket. "Faces as beautiful as yours shouldn't cry."

George tried to wipe his tears with his shirt sleeve but the man just patted his hands away, smoothing away all traces with the delicate cloth.

"There." The man smiled. "Now what's wrong?"

"My father's evil and my mother's a liar." He said shortly and the man frowned.

"I understand."

George blinked in surprise as the man didn't try to reprimand him for speaking so of his parent's. The man simply ran a hand through his hair and cupped his chin but George no longer felt afraid. Rather, he felt a strange kinship with him.

"My parents were much like that." The man said soothingly and George felt captured by the man's incredibly green eyes. They seemed to shine like emeralds, even in the dim light. Maybe it was the running, maybe the crying, but suddenly he felt extremely lethargic. His eyelids felt weighted down and he struggled to keep them open.

"George!"

The man looked up as George's eyes darted open.

"That's Paul," George murmured. Had his stepfather really run all this way after him?

"I see," the man said softly before pulling him to his feet. He walked unsteadily forward, the man's hand on his back pushing him in the right direction.

"George!" He felt Paul's arms fall around him and he staggered under the weight.

"I found him crying and wanted to stay with him until he found his parents, to make sure nothing happened to him." The man's silvery voice wafted against him.

"Thank you," he heard Paul say as he lifted George into his arms. "Thank you for making sure he was safe, Mr…"

"Devereux, but please call me Marcus. If there is anything you need, you can reach me at this number."

"Thank you again, Mr. Devereux."

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Take care, George."

Then he closed his eyes and the world no longer mattered.

* * *

_**Now** _

* * *

After Peter left for work that morning, Elizabeth called her office and told them she wasn't feeling well. She spent most of the morning lying in bed with Satchmo and Regina, feeling sick to her stomach with worry for Neal. She cried several times, thinking of him alone and scared, so far from everyone who loved him.

* * *

Neal slept in fits, never more than an hour, always waking to the same nightmare. He'd long since gone through the anti-anxiety pills Hughes had given him and with the face to face with Marcus looming before him, he was losing himself.

The work he'd been focusing on to try and bring Marcus down lay abandoned on the desk. He was curled up on the cheap mattress, knees tucked to his chest, and a two-day scruff on his cheeks. His phone lay a few scant inches from his face but it hadn't rang in hours. He wanted someone, anyone, to call him and tell him he wasn't alone. Someone.

Anyone.

The phone rang. He fumbled for it without opening his eyes. Rolling onto his back and stretching out his legs, he held the phone to his ear.

"Hello," he answered hoarsely.

" _Neal,"_

"El, I told you not to call, it's too dangerous…" Neal said quietly. But the sound of her voice made the lump in his throat grow dangerously, the past he'd been running from, the panic he kept locked in the back of his mind roared against its cage, trying to push itself forward into his conscious.

" _Neal,"_  She started again and this time her tone made him fall quiet.  _"Neal, I know. I'm so sorry, Neal, if I had known sooner…"_

He didn't hear the rest of what she said. He knew that with running this case, with what Peter would have to do to find Marcus, that it would no doubt come to light what had happened to him. It had always been there, the risk that someone would find out and it wasn't that he didn't want people to know. It was that…if he told someone, then he acknowledged that it had happened. And now they knew and he couldn't pretend anymore.

A broken sob forced its way from his throat as all the pain rushed forward, crashing through him, panic overtaking his body as it wracked against itself, trying to escape the memories, all the fear and pain. Elizabeth's voice changed in his ear, became soft and soothing, comforting even as his world came crashing down, all the walls just shattered. He was broken and exposed but her voice wrapped around him, sealing him off from the world that had tried so hard to destroy him. It held him tightly, held him together, and even as the sobs forced themselves from his throat, he felt that they were healing him rather than breaking him.

Neal slowly came back to himself, his throat sore and his eyes swollen but for the first time in years, he felt some level of calm, true calm, flooding through him. The panic was gone, the cage empty. He had broken but he had survived. He was free.

He laughed then and heard Elizabeth smile.

"Still love me?" he whispered hoarsely and she laughed.

" _Of course, sweetie,"_  she beamed.  _"Forever."_

* * *

Outside the FBI, Marcus lifted his silver fedora and tucked it under his arm. He ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back with the slight moisture in the air from the morning's rain before replacing the hat, cocking it slightly to one side.

It started to rain again as he crossed the street and he was grateful for the navy overcoat he wore. His step never hesitated, calmly walking confidently into the FBI offices. He paused in the foyer, removing his coat to reveal the neat silver pin-striped suit he wore, tailor made to fit him.

"Hello," he greeted the security guard with a smile. "I believe I have an appointment to see Agent Peter Burke."

"What's the name?" The secretary asked from behind him and he stepped over to her, draping his coat over his arm.

"Devereux."

She smiled, typing for a moment before handing him a visitor's pass. "The elevator's straight back. Fourth floor."

"Merci, ma chere."

Clipping the visitor's past to his coat pocket, Marcus waltzed back to the elevator, holding the door open for a young black man balancing six coffees.

"Fourth floor,"

Marcus smiled to himself. This must be Agent Jones.

"I was just heading there myself. I have an appointment with Agent Burke."

"Sorry to disappoint you but you may have to reschedule. We're up to our necks up there."

"Oh? Is something wrong?"

"One of our consultants has a murderous psychopath after him."

"That would put the office in frenzy."

"No kidding." Jones shook his head.

"Do you have any leads?"

Jones frowned. "No, not yet. But don't worry, we'll catch him."

Marcus smiled. "I'm sure."

He held the door for Agent Jones as they entered the office and Marcus picked out Burke immediately, walking over to him.

"Agent Burke,"

Peter glanced up briefly. "Hi, can I help you?"

"I had an appointment for today but your agent informs me you are quite busy so I will reschedule on the way out."

Peter nodded, blinking at the familiar man. He knew he'd seen him before but…where?

"Do I know you?"

"Not yet," Marcus said genially, producing a business card from his pocket. "But I'd like to further our relationship; perhaps later, after you've secured your missing agent."

Peter nodded slowly, taking the business card. "I look forward to it."

"Good luck," Marcus smiled, turning and walking back towards the elevator.

Peter frowned, almost dismissing the man but the card felt odd in his hand. Lifting it, he was startled that it was nearly blank. No address, no phone number, no business information…just an initial and a name.

M DEVEREUX

"No."

He looked up as the elevator door slid closed. "No!"

"Boss?"

"Diana, it's Devereux! He's in the elevator!"

Jones spun, staring out at them in shock. He ran with Peter and Diana as they headed for the stairs, rushing to cut Devereux off.

Whistling, Marcus waited until the elevator reached the third floor before sending it back up to the fourth and stepping out, turning left to go to records. He shed his silver jacket, dropping it in a waste basket as he walked and pulled a black tie out of his pocket, tying it at his neck. He slid a pair of black-rimmed glasses on and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt.

"Hi," he greeted the clerk at the records desk. "I'm Dean from IT. They sent an email saying I was coming? Need to update your servers."

He waited patiently as she checked, finding the e-mail in her inbox just as he had planned.

"Sure, Dean, let's get you set up."

She slid from behind her desk, offering him the seat. He smiled at her, logging into the network with ease.

"Hey, um, one of the guys from White Collar asked if I could give you this?" he handed her a pink post-it. She glanced at it before nodding.

"I'll be right back. Just call if you need anything."

"Sure thing."

He smiled until she disappeared into the stacks of files then turned back to the computer, sliding a mini flash drive into the port and pulling up the files for himself and for George. He quickly copied them and slid the flash back into his pocket.

"You're all set!" he said cheerily when the clerk returned. "I'll see you later."

Her smile was bright. "Maybe…for coffee?"

"Sure," Marcus grinned. She jotted down her number quickly.

"Call me."

He winked at her, slipping out of the records department and heading down to the south side of the building. Taking the service elevator to the ground floor, he picked up the bag he'd stashed their earlier and went out the fire exit, setting off the fire alarm.

* * *

Peter, Diana, and Jones had run out into the courtyard, facing each direction as they tried to spot the man who'd so blatantly challenged them. Peter shook his head.

"No one can move that fast,"

Diana frowned then glanced back at the building. "He's still inside."

The fire alarm sounded even as they raced back towards the doors and people began pouring out into the courtyard. Peter cursed, falling back and holstering his gun.

"He's gone. The bastard is gone."

"Dude, what's going on?" A passing bike messenger in a Giants cap and aviator sunglasses asked in a harsh New York accent. Peter glanced at him and sighed.

"FBI business, move along."

The messenger shrugged, walking his bike through the crowd. Peter looked around, trying to engrave the man's face in his brain; Marcus Devereux, the man who had walked straight into the FBI and then walked right back out.

"Jones!" Peter shouted then spun, finding the man at his elbow.

"Yeah, boss?"

"Jones, you were in the elevator with him. What did he say? What did he want?"

Jones shook his head lightly. "He, um…he said he had an appointment with you. I said you'd probably be busy, had a rough case. He asked if we had any leads…and I said no…"

"Well, that wasn't  _too_  incriminating," Diana muttered sarcastically.

Peter nodded slowly. "He barely stayed five minutes with us. There had to be something else he was after. Something else…"

"But what, Peter?"

Peter frowned before his eyes lit up in realization. "This is the man who trained Neal. Let's assume he's conning us."

The firemen gave the all clear behind them and the three of them heading back in, jogging up the stairs to avoid the stampede for the elevator.

"Diana, pull the security feeds. I want to know where he went and what he did. Jones, see if you can get a shot of his face. Maybe we can get an APB out."

They stopped as they reentered the White Collar Crime Division offices, hindered by the crowd of familiar faces that stood inside, bewildered. Each computer was on, each monitor showing the same images over and over again. Three people side by side, the same people on every monitor, and Peter walked forward slowly through the crowd.

Himself, Neal, and Elizabeth arm in arm, smiling in the sun at the summer barbecue.

"Peter," He heard Hughes say his name and walked up the steps, Hughes ushering him into his own office. On his computer, a box was blinking, waiting for him to enter his password. Hughes nodded to him and he slowly sat down, typing in his password. The screen instantly lit up with the same picture but it was now flickering. As they watched, dark red liquid dripped down over Neal's image, obscuring his face. Peter felt his heart clench and his hand trembled over the mouse. A crack appeared on the image between himself and Elizabeth and her image and Neal's both turned into white static, fading away into the background. Beneath his now lone picture, words appeared letter by letter.

JOINING THE GAME A LITTLE LATE NOW, AREN'T YOU, PETER?

"That's not melodramatic at all," Diana commented beside him but Peter paid her no mind.

He was on his feet the instant the image started playing again. "Jones, send someone to my house. I want someone with El at all times until this is over with. Diana, tell me we got _something_  on this son of a bitch."

The look she gave him told him they didn't and Peter cursed even as Jones picked up the phone, calling in for someone to send a detail over to his house.

Marcus stood outside in the alley, listening to Peter's rant through the bug he'd slipped into Jones' pocket. When Jones picked up the phone, it dialed to his cell number.

"Dispatch," he answered pleasantly and listened quietly. An escort to the Burke house, of course. Like this didn't happen every other week. He closed his cell when Jones hung up and dialed Flint.

"Go." He commanded and hung up after Flint's affirmative. He listened as Burke ordered Jones to go and wait for the officer to show up. Dividing his force already?

"Burke, you're really making this too easy." Marcus laughed, sliding down the alley towards a nearby coffee shop. Now to wait for nightfall.

* * *

Jones waited with Elizabeth until there was a knock on the door, a young man with dark brown hair and a trim goatee greeting them with a smile. "Good afternoon, Agent. Ms. Burke."

His accent was pleasant and he joked with them for a few minutes while Elizabeth started a fresh pot of coffee. Then Jones shook his head, leaving him alone with Elizabeth as he headed back to the office to help Peter and Diana scrounge up what they could. Last he had heard, Marcus had locked them all out of their computers and tech support had just gotten them back in.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?" Elizabeth asked genially as she handed the officer a cup of coffee.

"Flint," he answered, a smile lighting his eyes. "Roger Flint."

* * *

The day turned to night and Peter sat at his desk, miserable. They had the other computers running but his still played the image over and over again. Blood running down over Neal and Elizabeth being torn away from him…was Marcus after him now? Or was he just trying to draw him out to get to Neal?

"Peter," Hughes addressed him from the door. "Maybe you should go home."

Peter shook his head, running a hand over his face. "Marcus has brought us to a standstill. Our only chance lies with playing his game, leading Neal into his trap. I wanted so much to catch him before this point, before Neal had to risk his life…"

Hughes nodded, sitting across from him. "Neal knew the risks even before we did. I'm sure he knew it would end this way."

"That doesn't mean I have to like it." Peter said softly.

"I sent Jones down to check the lot and your car and as soon as he calls up with the all clear, you're going home. I'll call you if there's any development."

Peter looked at his boss tiredly before nodding. "Anything, the slightest bit of information, please call me."

"I will," Hughes promised.

Jones called up a moment later saying the parking lot was empty and he'd checked Peter's car thoroughly. He was clear to go home. Peter waved down to him from the window before picking up his jacket and keys. Jones closed his phone and slid it into the pocket, standing next to the passenger door of Peter's car and waiting for his boss to appear. Keeping a steady watch on the door, he didn't see the man dressed all in black sneaking up behind him, blond hair slicked back, the street light glinting off the silencer on his gun.

He didn't get a chance to react when a hand closed over his mouth, the muzzle of a gun pressed to his back and agony exploded through his chest. There was barely any sound and he choked as blood gurgled in his throat.

"Hush now," a voice soothed in his ear. "Your journey is over, Clinton. Sleep well."

He closed his eyes, his body going limp in the man's arms.

Peter hurried out to his car, fumbling with his keys. He glanced up to see a figure he assumed was Jones in the dark, leaning against his car.

"Thanks, Jones. I'll see you tomorrow."

He slid into the driver's seat and started the car. The passenger door opened and he froze as a blond haired man slid into the seat next to him.

"Good evening, Peter."

"Marcus."


End file.
